


Trading Secrets

by dats__gayyy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Study, F/F, Femslash, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 05:14:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 63,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5235527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dats__gayyy/pseuds/dats__gayyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Herald is a woman with a quick blade and a quicker smile. Both are an asset to the fledgling Inquisition, and to its spymaster. A character study and an answer to the question "What if Leliana was romanceable in DA:I?" </p><p>Ch 24: The Final Battle</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos and reviewed! This is my first venture into Ao3, so I'm not really sure if it's a thing to reply to each and every one (it's not on FF.net, but idk), but I want you all to know I appreciate each and every one :)

Leliana traded in information, and to that end she liked to always keep an ear to the ground. As the resident wildcard of the burgeoning Inquisition, Evelyn Trevelyan was her current object of scrutiny.

 

The Herald was sparring with Cullen in the training yard just outside Haven's walls, and the recruits watched the match out of the corners of their eyes while attempting to run through drills of their own. Ever since her encounter with the rift at the Temple, Trevelyan had thrown herself into training with gusto. Leliana supposed that gaining larger-than-life titles had that effect.

 

The brunette was a rogue, like Leliana herself, wielding two daggers opposed to Cullen's broadsword. She was quick and opportunistic, though to Leliana's trained eye she lacked grace and calculation. Cullen attacked in a vertical slash that she parried rather than dodged, her tanned muscles straining under the impact, glistening with a sheen of sweat from her morning exercises. The two stayed locked in that position for a long moment, the woman wavering against Cullen's superior strength. Trevelyan's foot slipped, and Cullen sensed an opening and pulled back to strike again. Rather than recovering, however, Trevelyan used this chance to charge forward. In a flurry of movement, the two clashed. Trevelyan's swords ended up pressed to Cullen's neck, with Cullen's sword at her chest.

 

A draw. Impressed murmurs echoed through the training yard.

 

"Hah! Good match, Herald!" Cullen said with a small smile, letting his practice sword fall to his side. He took a step back to put a respectful distance between them.

 

Trevelyan grinned back, sweat beading on her face. It was a pretty face, objectively speaking, one that Leliana had hope would be able to charm followers to their cause. "One day I shall best you, ser," the Herald vowed, and Cullen smirked. "Until then, thank you for indulging me." She nodded a farewell and gave a parting smile to their audience, then turned and walked back toward Haven. Cullen focused his attention back on the recruits, barking orders that they scrambled to fulfill.

 

Trevelyan neared the gate to Haven's outer wall, where Leliana was standing. The younger woman's steps were ever so slightly shaky and her breath was ragged, though a grin was still tugging her lips. It was obvious that she was completely worn and trying desperately not to appear it.

 

"I believe you are out of their line of sight now," Leliana called.

 

Trevelyan, to her credit, did not seem surprised to find the redhead there. She merely flopped onto the ground, letting out a long sigh with a jumbled _Thank the Maker._

 

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were exhausted," the older woman remarked as she made her way to the other woman's side, hiding a smile.

 

"My bruises have bruises!" Trevelyan exclaimed, wincing. Leliana smirked down at her, and in response Trevelyan narrowed brown eyes playfully at her. The flush on her face brought out her freckles, mapped like a small constellation across her nose and cheeks. "This moment of weakness is a secret between us."

 

"Hmm." Leliana tapped a finger to her lips. Secrets were the spymaster's trade. What was one more added to her collection?

"Of course, Herald."


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Butler's betrayal.

The next time they spoke, the conversation was not so pleasant.

 

It had been a long two weeks before the party finally ventured back from the Hinterlands, riding in on horses from Master Dennet, magnificent steeds that rebelled at being corralled. The party was worn but seemingly none too worse for the wear. Right away, Solas excused himself, taking the herbs they’d collected to the apothecary, murmuring the recipes of useful potions under his breath.

 

“Curse demons, the entire blighted lot of them,” Trevelyan grumbled as they trudged up the steps to the clearing in front of the Chantry. She’d been scratched and bludgeoned and frozen, and she knew this was just the beginning; who knew what else was to come?

 

Varric gave her a consoling pat. “There, there, Stabby. We won’t be ass-deep in demons forever.”

 

“Just the foreseeable future,” Cassandra quipped, and Trevelyan groaned in response.

 

She was about to respond when movement caught her eye. It was one of the spymaster’s agents, running for her tent with a scroll in his hand. Haste and an agent were never a promising sign, and Trevelyan felt a prickle of dread run down her spine.

 

“Go on ahead, I’ll meet you in a moment,” she said, flicking her gaze back to her companions.

 

Cassandra and Varric shared a look before turning and entering the Chantry, and Trevelyan crossed the clearing with quick steps. She could hear the low, agitated voices of the spymaster and agent, and Trevelyan bit her lip. It was bad news, then.

 

“You’re sure?” Leliana was asking the agent as Trevelyan entered the tent.

 

He nodded with a solemn, “Yes, milady.”

 

Leliana leaned against her writing table, staring past the parchment, a frown marring her face. Neither she nor the agent paid Trevelyan any mind, so the younger woman leaned against a tent pole, content to wait her turn and listen.

 

“Farrier was one of my best agents. He…” The spymaster trailed off, and when she spoke again her voice was tight with anger. “Butler was responsible for this, and he will pay for what he’s done. Still, we were friends once, so make it clean.” She cast a knowing, cold look at her agent, and he nodded, expressionless.

 

Trevelyan’s eyebrows skyrocketed up. “Wait, what are you doing?” she asked in alarm.

 

Leliana turned to her, eyes narrowed and brimming with a cold fire, and Trevelyan urged herself not to flinch. “Butler betrayed us. He killed one of my agents!”

 

“So you’ll kill him, just like that?” She shot back, straightening up and crossing her arms defensively. The idea of killing a man in cold blood, while she had no doubt the spymaster had done before and would do again as her job required it, still unsettled her.

 

Leliana visibly bristled. “You find fault with my decision, Herald?” She threw out Trevelyan’s title like a challenge.

 

Trevelyan knew that she wasn’t in any position to critique the spymaster’s methods. Still, cold-blooded murder seemed…radical, especially when it was motivated by revenge. “I’m sure most of your decisions are fine, but that one is a little extreme.”

 

Leliana scoffed. “Extreme? His betrayal put my agents in danger. I condemn one man to save dozens.”

 

 _That’s a bloody arithmetic,_ Trevelyan thought, feeling squeamish at the thought.

 

“I may not like what I do, but it must be done. I cannot afford the luxury of ideals at a time like this.” Leliana dismissed, and Trevelyan flared up.

 

“Now is precisely the time for ideals!” She argued passionately, feeling her frustration get the better of her. “We are at war, with each other and with the Fade. People are dying all around us, being killed by people they used to sit across the dinner table with.” She thought back to the brothers in the Hinterlands who fought to the death. “The Inquisition cannot be consumed by this madness. It must stand for something more.” Out of breath and slightly self-conscious, she stopped her rant there.

 

Leliana stared at her as if she was seeing the rogue for the first time, and Trevelyan did her best not to squirm under the gaze. Finally, she turned back to her table and the parchment there. “You feel very strongly about this,” she remarked in a way that seemed almost as if she was talking to herself.

 

A long moment stretched out, the agent looking down at his hands awkwardly, Trevelyan staring at Leliana’s back in anticipation.

 

Leliana turned to the agent. “Apprehend Butler. But see that he lives.” He nodded and left at once.

 

Trevelyan breathed out a sigh of relief. Leliana noticed but did not comment.

 

“Now if you’re happy, I have more work to do,” the spymaster said, pointedly turning away.

 

“Ah, uh, of course,” Trevelyan said awkwardly, knowing that she was being dismissed. She felt torn between apologizing for the intrusion and outburst or thanking the other woman for considering her opinion. In the end, she opted for neither, walking away quietly, trying her best to keep a dignified pace as she retreated.

 

Leliana listened as the sound of the rogue's footsteps faded before she leaned heavily on her writing table once more, frowning. The passion, the idealism, the glint in Trevelyan’s eye when she spoke all reminded her of a lifetime ago, of her journeys with the late Hero of Fereldan. The Warden had been gruffer, to be sure, which Leliana assumed was part of what attracted him to Morrigan. But still, he had always been so steadfast in his values that he had been willing to lay down his life for them. He had been a force. They had all been a force, Leliana corrected herself. A force for good. And she had continued in that vein when she had agreed to be Justinia’s Left Hand.

 

Was she changing, without his guidance, without Justinia’s? It was a haunting question. Everything seemed so much darker, this time around, so much trickier to navigate.

 

But it was not something to dwell on, she chastised herself. She had work to do.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Return from Val Royeaux, and a gift

Trevelyan felt like she could have wandered the streets of Val Royeaux for a lifetime and still felt lost. It was a brightly colored puzzle, and not one that she was sure she wished to figure out. Solving a puzzle was rewarding; the vain politics of Val Royeaux was headache-inducing and so drastically different from what she had grown up with in the Free Marches.

 

“Snakes, all of them, hiding their forked tongues behind prettily-painted masks,” Cassandra grumbled from her right. The raven-haired warrior had been sullen their entire trip, and Trevelyan was beginning to understand why the other woman had turned her back on a noblewoman’s life – replacing Cassandra’s sword with a scepter would be a bit like putting a dragon in a castle and expecting it to hold court.

 

“A viper’s nest,” Trevelyan agreed. At least they were on their way back to Haven, even if they did have to travel by ship to get back. Her stomach lurched at the thought. On the way to the grand city, Varric had tried to distract her from her queasiness by telling her stories, but it turned out that laughing in between heaving was really not much of a comfort.

* * *

 

Trevelyan supposed she should be used to the Inquisiton’s bickering by now, though somehow it always surprised her how every decision had to be such a struggle.

 

“You really think the invitation with the mages could be a trap?” she asked Cassandra, trying to hide the incredulousness from her voice. Grand Enchanter Fiona had been nothing if not cordial and polite when they’d met her in Val Royeaux, and that civility hadn’t seemed to have been a cover for any nefarious plans.

 

“A trap we could avoid by siding with the Templars instead,” Cullen cut in pointedly, hands on his hips.

 

Both women ignored him.

 

“If some among the rebel mages were involved with what happened at the Conclave…” Cassandra suggested, trailing off with a frown, thoughts churning behind her dark eyes.

 

“The same could be said about the Templars,” Josephine said amicably, ever the peace-keeping voice of reason.

 

Trevelyan almost felt dizzy from the circles they were arguing in. She stared down at the Chantry floor. “You will have to make a decision soon, either way,” she pointed out, shaking her head.

 

Thankfully, that ended the stalemate. “True enough,” Cullen agreed. “Right now I’m not certain we have enough influence to approach the Order directly.” At the pointed look Leliana shot him, he added, “Or the mages, for that matter.”

 

“Then the Inquisition needs agents in more places. That is something you can help with.” Cassandra turned to Trevelyan, who was glad to finally have a concrete goal put forth.

 

“In the meantime, we should consider other options,” Josephine said.

 

With that parting word, she, Cullen, and Cassandra dispersed. Leliana stayed behind, waiting for the others to get out of earshot before speaking.

 

“There is one other matter,” the redhead said, stepping forward, and Trevelyan felt herself get nervous for some odd reason, her heart rate picking up.

 

Leliana tipped her head, and they started walking towards the Chantry door. “Several months ago, the Grey Wardens of Ferelden vanished. I sent word to those in Orlais, but they have also disappeared.”

 

“Hmm.” Trevelyan’s brow furrowed. That seemed odd, though she supposed Wardens weren’t the easiest to track down in peaceful, un-Blighted times.

 

“Ordinarily, I wouldn’t even consider the idea they’re involved in all this, but the timing is…curious.” At Trevelyan’s nod, she continued. “The others have disregarded my suspicions, but I cannot ignore it.” Her voice hardened.

 

They reached the doorway and stared out at the village below. Watching Haven’s villagers bustle about, Leliana said, “Two days ago, my agents in the Hinterlands heard news of a Grey Warden by the name of Blackwall. If you have the opportunity, please seek him out. Perhaps he can put my mind at ease.”

 

“And if he can’t?” Trevelyan asked. She’d grown up revering the Wardens as heroes, so the question pained her to ask, but anything was possible, especially in times like these.

 

Leliana turned to her, frowning in thought. “Then there may be more going on than we thought.” Trevelyan sincerely hoped that wouldn’t be the case.

 

“I’ll search for him.” Trevelyan agreed readily.

 

Leliana nodded and turned away.

 

“Ah, um, Leliana?” Trevelyan fumbled. She always preferred to call people by their titles, a lingering effect of the manners drilled into her during her childhood, but the spymaster had so many that she was always unsure of which to use. Sister Nightingale? Sister Leliana? Spymaster? Left Hand?

 

Leliana stopped and turned back, a brow raised questioningly.

 

Trevelyan shuffled from foot to foot, running a hand through her long hair. “I, ah, I wanted to apologize. For…Butler, was it?”

 

Now both of Leliana’s brows shot up, and it made Trevelyan feel even more self-conscious.

 

“I had no right to dictate to you how to do your own job. I imagine I seemed a fool, making a rash decision based on ideals rather than, well, facts.” Trevelyan rubbed the back of her neck, shifting her gaze to the floor, a rueful smile on her face. “I don’t retract my advice – I still think it was the right thing to do – but it was uncalled for even so.”

 

She rifled through the pack hanging at her side, and standing there, Leliana was taken aback by the whole thing. She…was not used to apologies in her line of work. Well, apologies not given at knifepoint, at any rate. And this one was undeserved, truly. While at first she had been miffed at Trevelyan’s intrusion, in time she realized she was grateful for it.

 

Trevelyan drew an object wrapped in paper out, and Leliana wasn’t sure but she could’ve sworn she saw a blush staining the younger woman’s cheeks as she handed it over.

 

“What…?” Leliana unwrapped the paper with hesitant fingers. “Shoes?” Indeed, they were powder blue satin shoes. Leliana... was completely flabbergasted.

 

“A peace offering,” Trevelyan replied, eyes still downcast. “I wasn’t sure what to choose. I knew what gifts to get everyone else – tea for Josephine, a blade for Cullen. Cassandra said you liked shoes.” Trevelyan chuckled. “She tried to help me pick some out, but between us we have atrocious fashion taste. Fortunately, the merchant, a dwarf, Tegrin or something, seemed to know you and gave us these.” She cut off her rambling there and shot the red head a worried glance. “Ah, I suppose he could’ve been bluffing just to make a sale though.” Why hadn’t she thought of that before?

 

“No, I…” Leliana collected herself, and finally looked up from the shoes to meet Trevelyan’s gaze. “They’re perfect. You took me by surprise is all.”

 

Trevelyan grinned, and Leliana was grateful for the levity. “The Inquisiton’s own spymaster, surprised? It truly must be the end of times. But the secret shall stay between us.” Her eyes glittered with such mirth that Leliana chuckled.

 

“Thank you, Herald.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww how awkward, good ol' Trev


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Down time and musings

If there was one thing a Herald of the Inquisition didn’t get very much of, it was quiet time, Trevelyan mused. She had just gotten back from a week at the Hinterlands closing rifts and doing odd jobs to strengthen the Inquisition’s influence. Immediately upon reaching Haven’s gate, the party had split off in different directions: Cassandra to take a bath and properly tend to a wound from a terror demon, Sera to see if her “bee bombs” had been made yet, and Varric…well, he had just taken off in the opposite direction as Cassandra. Trevelyan took the opportunity to steal a moment for herself, walking down a path around the lake until she wound up at the dock on its far side.

 

It was surprising how quickly she’d come to view Haven as her home. It was frigid and isolated and barely even a village; in all, the opposite of Ostwick. Its people were an odd ragtag group of faithful, cunning, dubious, and innocent characters. Its leaders were fumbling for a plan given the chaos of the world around them. Trevelyan shook her head as she thought about it all.

 

And yet.

 

Trevelyan let her gaze float up from Haven’s Chantry to the Breach – a scar in the sky, a reminder of a lurking danger. There was a sense of purpose here, a determination that dogged the steps of every member of the Inquisition. Trevelyan imagined that feeling was similar to what drew so many of her family members to the Chantry and the Templar Order, though she'd never felt it herself.

 

Trevelyan flopped onto her back, putting her hands behind her head and letting her legs dangle off the edge of the dock. The sky above her was almost cloudless and mostly empty of anything remotely interesting to look at, though she did spot a raven flying lazy circles overhead that she had no doubt was one of Leliana’s. Trevelyan let her eyes flutter closed.

 

She wasn’t sure how long she laid like that, the whisper of the wind and the faint metallic clang of recruits parrying each other’s swords lulling her into a peaceful rest. Every so often a nearby druffalo would snort, reminding her that she was not completely alone.

 

A fact she became even more aware of when she opened her eyes and sat back up.

 

Leliana was sitting on the edge of the dock next to her, looking out over the frozen lake, eyes trained on the horizon.

 

“Fuck!” Trevelyan yelped, startled, and nearly fell off the dock in surprise.

 

With a small smirk, Leliana quickly grabbed on to the younger woman’s shoulder pad, preventing her from falling.

 

“Did I startle you?” Leliana asked innocently, though her smirk only grew bigger.

 

“You move like a damned ghost,” Trevelyan swore, taking several deep breaths in an attempt to calm her racing heart. There was a twinkle in the spymaster’s blue eyes that prevented her from being truly annoyed, however.

 

“A skill that has proven very useful in my line of work, I assure you. For more than frightening my companions.” Leliana patted her shoulder pad before retracting her hand.

 

For whatever reason, Trevelyan’s heart rate refused to return to normal.

 

“Is there anything I can do for you?” The brunette asked. “Other than provide a source of amusement, that is.”

 

“Ah, but you do that so well, don’t you?” Leliana replied in a teasing lilt, her smirk softening into a small smile. She turned to look out at the skyline once again. “I did come here to talk about some matters.”

 

“Blackwall?” Trevelyan guessed, remembering their conversation from before.

 

Leliana sighed. “A good man, but he did not have the information I was hoping for.” She sounded weary, Trevelyan noted, her eyes trained on the other woman’s face. She didn’t know much about the spymaster’s history, but she knew about her connection with the late hero of Fereldan. If she had to hazard a guess, she supposed that the redhead had been hoping for an exoneration of the Grey Wardens, but instead she had gotten nothing. It had to be weighing on her.

 

“We’ll find the truth, one way or another,” Trevelyan promised with as much conviction as she could muster. She hoped it was enough to sound convincing.

 

An unreadable expression flashed across the spymaster’s face, but was gone before Trevelyan could attempt to decipher it. “Ever the optimist,” Leliana said, shooting her a glance before shaking her head. “But enough,” she declared, rising to her feet. “I’ve intruded on your time plenty already.” Before Trevelyan could interject, she continued. “There will always be time later to speak of such things, and this matter can wait.”

 

She started walking back the way she’d come. After a few steps, she paused and said over her shoulder, “Thank you, Trevelyan. For believing.”

 

“Of course,” Trevelyan said, feeling that there was something more to the words than she really understood. “You’re someone who inspires belief.”

 

The redhead said nothing more, and Trevelyan watched her walk away.

 

Shrugging, the young woman tried to lie back down and recapture some of her earlier tranquility, but what once felt peaceful now felt empty with the spymaster’s absence.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a difficult time at the Storm Coast, Trevelyan and Leliana start sparring together.

They began sparring together shortly after Trevelyan returned from the Storm Coast.

 

In the traveling party’s ravens back to Haven, the advisors had been informed that the journey along the Storm Coast had been tricky, with one difficulty after another cropping up. That still did not quite prepare them for the sight of a battered Herald, when she and Cassandra convened with the rest of the advisors in the war room for a debrief on their encounters.

 

“Oh, my,” Josephine said in shock before she could stop herself, raising a hand to cover her mouth.

 

Trevelyan was sporting a cut that stretched from her cheek to just above her brow on the right-hand side of her face. The wound looked angry and red, though it appeared not to be deep enough to cause any long-lasting harm, Leliana noted. The woman also had several other smaller cuts and bruises along her face and neck, and though her tunic covered the rest, there was no doubt she had injuries elsewhere as well.

 

“How did…” Cullen gestured to her face, “ah, _that_ happen?”

 

“She was sloppy with her bladework,” Cassandra said in a weathered tone that let them all know the warrior had said this more than once.

 

Trevelyan frowned slightly. “Yes, well, we were fighting a _giant_. Maker, anyone would have sloppy bladework against a beast like that!” She said it with a humorous lilt to her voice, but in a defensive way that was clearly meant to close the door on the matter.

 

At any rate, they did leave it at that, though the air in the room seemed heavier, and the advisors kept stealing glances at the damaged Herald throughout her report on the Storm Coast.

 

The discussion eventually turned to other issues. Cullen and Josephine began to argue – with Trevelyan playing judge, as she often did – about whether it was best to employ force or diplomacy in the case of a half-mad noble and refugees encroaching on his land against his wishes. Cassandra took the opportunity to seek out Leliana, beckoning her a few paces away from the war table, conveniently out of earshot of the others.

 

“The Herald needs proper weapons training,” the Nevarren woman said in a low tone. “She is a skilled fighter, there is no doubt, but that skill can only go so far against improper technique. As is plain to see.”

 

They were silent a moment, watching Trevelyan attempt to moderate between the other two advisors. The brunette shook her head at something Josephine said, then winced, and it was then that Leliana noticed the murky greenish-brown of half-healed bruises just visible over her shirt collar. Leliana crossed her arms, bringing a hand up to her chin, tapping a finger against her lips. She turned back to Cassandra, catching the gleam in the warrior’s eye and the determined set of her jaw. She already had a plan, then.

 

“What do you have in mind?”

 

“You,” Cassandra said in her typical straightforward manner, not bothering to cloak her proposal in persuasion as Leliana might have. At the redhead’s raised brow, she continued. “As a former bard, you are uniquely skilled for the task. She has taken to training with the Commander and I, but neither of us has much familiarity with daggers or knives. I know you are preoccupied with your own duties, but it shan’t take much of your time and is a vital matter.”

 

Yes, Leliana supposed it was, her gaze drifting back to the cut that ran across Trevelyan’s brow and cheek. The rogue was a key figurehead to the newly formed Inquisition, and as such she ought to know how to defend herself. Leliana agreed to Cassandra’s request just as Trevelyan laid a token down on the map of Fereldan, apparently settling the debate on the mad noble matter at last.

 

Leliana waited until the meeting was over and the other advisors were shuffling out of the room (Cassandra shooting her a pointed look to which she nodded in acknowledgement) before approaching Trevelyan, who was still looking over the map as if trying to fit together a puzzle. Trevelyan absent-mindedly ghosted her fingers around the edge of the cut along her face.

 

“It looks painful,” Leliana said, sincerely. It had to be bothering the younger woman more than she had let on.

 

Trevelyan blinked at the words as if just realizing the spymaster was still present, her honey-brown eyes finding Leliana’s blue ones from across the war table.

 

“The other guy got worse, I assure you,” she said with a weak smile, grimacing as a cut on her lip pulled painfully.

 

Leliana rolled her eyes at the quip, but the corners of her lips rose in a small smile. “So I’ve heard,” she said, then decided to cut directly to the chase. “I’ve also heard that your weapon’s technique could use some polishing.”

 

Trevelyan’s expression darkened. “Ah. So that’s what you two were discussing.” She gazed back down at the map, crossing her arms, the muscles in her jaw tightening.

 

“Cassandra suggested you receive specialized training.” Leliana leaned against the table, studying the other woman’s sour expression with slight confusion. Even with the short time the rogue had been with them, she knew it was not like Trevelyan to get defensive. “It is not a bad idea.”

 

Trevelyan’s shoulders tensed, and she shot back, “I’ve survived this long, haven’t I?”

 

“And we’d all like you to survive much longer,” Leliana returned in a neutral tone.

 

Trevelyan was silent a moment, and that silence stretched the tension in the room taut. “If I agree to training, you can’t expect me to stay holed up in Haven, throwing around a practice weapon while demons and rebel mages and rogue Templars and Maker knows what else wreak havoc.” She looked up finally, eyes fiery.

 

Trust the Herald to be more concerned about other’s well-being than her own safety. It wasn’t ideal, given the woman’s symbolic importance to the Inquisition and the mark on her hand that held the key to closing the Breach. Leliana’s instincts told her to carefully guard such an asset, but her strategies were nothing if not flexible.

 

“Of course.” Trevelyan’s shoulders sagged in relief at the redhead’s words. “We’ll start tomorrow. Be ready by sun up.”

 

Trevelyan’s eyes widened and her brows shot up. “‘We’ll’…?” She echoed. “You’re going to train me?” She sounded slightly awestruck.

 

Leliana smirked at the younger woman’s surprise. It was always refreshing to be reminded of the weight of one’s reputation. She turned and walked away.

 

Trevelyan watched her go. “I’ll be ready!” She called, though she was fairly certain no one would ever be truly ‘ready’ to take on the Nightingale.

* * *

 

“Damn it!” Trevelyan hissed, rubbing her shoulder where Leliana had landed a sharp blow with her blunted dagger.

 

The two had been training for nearly a half hour in the clearing past Seggrit’s shop. Having gone a few practice bouts, Leliana had a fair assessment of the brunette’s skills.

 

“You have quick reflexes,” she said, lowering her weapons and taking a step back. “You need to use them to evade attacks rather than deflect them, otherwise you’ll be slowed down and vulnerable to counterstrikes.” She nodded at Trevelyan’s shoulder.

 

“Evade. All right.” Trevelyan nodded and readied her daggers again, mouth set in a determined line. Leliana bit back a smile at the younger woman’s earnestness, a warm feeling tugging in her chest.

 

They started circling each other. Trevelyan’s footwork was passable and her stance was solid, Leliana noted. After they made a tense full circle, Leliana did an about face and quickly moved the other direction, taking Trevelyan off guard. In that short moment of hesitation, the spymaster moved in for a flank attack. To her credit, Trevelyan did manage to dodge out of the way, and as Leliana went past she attempted a quick jab with her left dagger. Leliana parried and then struck the pommel of her dagger against Trevelyan’s wrist.

 

Swearing, Trevelyan dropped her dagger. She glanced at it but decided it wasn’t worth the risk of retrieving. Instead, she shifted her stance to cover for her lost second blade, turning her shoulders so that less of her body was open to attack, and found it awkward.

 

“You were trained as a warrior, not a rogue,” Leliana said, a statement rather than a question.

 

“For a time.” Trevelyan replied, attempting a strike that the other woman easily evaded. “Until I declined to join the Templar Order, and my family canceled my weapons training.” It had been a sore point for a long time, and still was with some of her relatives, but even at the age of 15 she could not convince herself of the glory of becoming a jailer of mages. Especially not when Alyssa, her younger sister whom Trevelyan had been fiercely protective of growing up, had started to show signs of magic.

 

“You adapted, obviously.” Leliana knew bits and pieces of Trevelyan’s history; information was her trade, after all. But she hadn’t pried any more than was strictly necessary, satisfying herself with the knowledge that should she need extra details, her agents would make short work of digging them up.

 

“Yes,” Trevelyan said simply. “I did.” She left it at that, and Leliana took it as a cue to leave the subject alone.

 

They trained for a time more, until Haven started awakening around them. Sweat dripped down Trevelyan’s brow and her breaths were slightly labored, though her eyes were bright. She lashed out with both her daggers, but Leliana sidestepped and with a swift kick knocked the younger woman’s legs out from under her. With a thud, Trevelyan landed on her back, the wind whooshing out of her lungs.

 

Leliana stood over her, pointing a dagger to her throat. “How the mighty have fallen,” she quipped before sheathing her daggers.

 

Trevelyan laughed, and in that moment she seemed a picture of pure happiness, cuts and bruises and all, and the redhead was almost taken aback.

 

“This is a secret. I don’t want anyone to find out I got knocked on my ass our dear spymaster. Maker, Varric would never let me live it down!” Trevelyan shook her head at the thought, though she couldn’t stop a grin from stretching across her face.

 

“We shall see,” Leliana said ambiguously, offering a hand to the brunette and pulling her up.

 

Trevelyan groaned. “Good enough, I suppose.”


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Hushed Whispers. This part deals with the quest, and the next chapter will deal with the aftermath. More angsty.

The Inquisition ultimately ended up accepting the invitation to meet with the mages at Redcliffe, in no small part due to Trevelyan’s urging. When Cullen and Cassandra protested, the Herald stated firmly that they deserved to have their voices heard, at the very least, and the two grudgingly agreed.

 

Trevelyan wasn’t sure what exactly she’d been expecting to find at Redcliffe, but a Tevinter magister pulling Grand Enchanter Fiona’s strings was not it. The newly free mages, desperate and frightened by the chaos in the aftermath of the explosion at the Conclave, had indentured themselves to the magister.

 

 _They walked out of one prison and into another,_ Trevelyan thought wryly. She, along with the rest of the party – Vivienne, Varric, and Solas – were on their way back to the Inquisition, only a few miles from Haven. They’d been travelling on horseback in silence for awhile now, Trevelyan staring at the horizon, lost in her own thoughts. Maker, the world seemed to be spiraling into madness.

* * *

 

Trevelyan was quiet when she returned from Redcliffe, and that was the first sign that something was the matter. The advisors gathered in the war room, and slowly she told them about her meeting with the mages, who had become indentured to a Tevinter magister in exchange for protection from the Templars. This magister was somehow entangled with odd time magic and a Tevinter supremacist cult, and to top it off he had an unexplained obsession with the Herald. He had invited her for a meeting alone to discuss the use of the mages in closing the Breach. At some point in the conversation, another Tevinter, whom Trevelyan introduced as Dorian, burst into the room in a rather dramatic fashion, demanding that if they go after Alexius, he was coming too.

 

The proposed meeting was an obvious trap. Leliana knew that. _Everyone_ knew that. And yet, what could they do besides take the bait? If they abandoned Redcliffe, they’d leave a foreign threat at their doorstep.

 

“I’ll do it,” Trevelyan said, squaring her shoulders and glancing at each of the advisors in turn. “I have to.”

 

How many times had Leliana heard good people utter that solemn phrase? How many people had been lost to those three words? The Hero of Ferelden. The Divine.

 

Leliana narrowed her eyes, mentally shaking off her foreboding thoughts.

 

“Very well,” Cullen said without enthusiasm. He turned to Leliana. “How soon can your agents be in place?”

 

Leliana considered. She had agents stationed across Thedas, and while she’d prefer to send only her most talented for this task, it would take time to assemble them. Time they did not have. They’d have to make do with what was already in place. “Give me a day or two to send word to my agents in the Hinterlands. They will be ready by the time you arrive in Redcliffe,” she said, addressing Trevelyan.

 

The younger woman nodded, eyes thoughtful. The cut along her face, faded slightly now, caught the light.

 

“I will write to the magister and tell him we accept his proposal,” Josephine said in a impartial tone. Leliana knew her friend well enough to know she was troubled, however, noticing the Antivan woman fidgeting with the quill in her hands.

 

“Then we have our marching orders.” Trevelyan smiled, small but true, and Leliana marveled at her ability to do so now of all times.

 

“Right. We have much to prepare,” Cassandra said, emphatically thumping the war table with her fist before straightening up.

 

With that, the meeting broke up, and everyone went their separate ways. Trevelyan walked out with Dorian in tow, and Leliana watched her go, then found her way to Josephine’s side.

 

“You’re worried,” she stated matter-of-factly, knowing her friend would never admit as much without prompting.

 

The ambassador hesitated and then nodded, a wrinkle forming between her brows. “It’s a trap, of course I am. Aren’t you?” They walked to Josephine’s office, Josephine taking a seat at her desk and Leliana standing in front of it.

 

“Worry is for the unprepared. The Herald will be fine, Josie. She is in quite capable hands, after all,” she replied with a smirk, gesturing to herself. Leliana was worried too, despite herself, but she knew a show of confidence would calm her friend.

 

Josephine smiled at last. “That is true.”

 

Leliana hoped it was.

* * *

 

Trevelyan showed up at Leliana’s tent early the next morning. The spymaster was working, as per usual (Trevelyan wasn’t entirely sure she slept). She was pouring over a letter on her desk and writing out notes on a piece of parchment.

 

Trevelyan watched her for a moment before clearing her throat. “I’d knock but…” She shrugged, waving a hand at the open tent, even though the redhead wasn’t facing her so was blind to her gestures. “Isn’t it odd, for a spymaster not to have a door?”

 

“The façade of openness fools many into a false sense of security. How can you fear what you can plainly see?” Leliana replied distractedly, finishing the letter and jotting down a last note.

 

Trevelyan’s brows shot up at that. She thought it was even more intimidating to think that the spymaster could deal in shadows and secrets even in broad daylight, but she could see the point.

 

“Now, what can I do for you?” Leliana asked, looking up at last.

 

“I thought perhaps we could train, if you’re not too busy. On the oh-so-slim chance my meeting with Alexius comes to blows, I want to be ready,” Trevelyan said with a lopsided smile. In all truth, she was nervous about meeting with the Tevinter magister. She couldn’t shake an ominous foreboding feeling churning in her stomach. Dorian had said this time magic could rip the world apart at its seams, and how was she supposed to fight a force like that?

 

“Let us hope it will not come to that.” Leliana went to a chest in the corner and pulled out their practice weapons, wooden daggers that had seen better days. She tossed two of them to the brunette, who caught them deftly.

 

They walked in silence to their training spot. When they arrived, Leliana motioned for her to get ready.

 

“We’ll work on your defense,” she said, noting Trevelyan’s stance, circling around her to see how she adapted it. “Turn your shoulders a little more. When you’re solely defending, you want to lead with your shoulder, closing your body to attack. The tradeoff is that if you do want to attack or parry, there are fewer options you have, but don’t worry about that now.”

 

Trevelyan did as she instructed, eyes following the other woman intently. Leliana attempted a few stabs that she successfully dodged.

 

“This feels awkward,” she complained, shifting a bit and widening her stance. “I’m so far turned that I can barely look at you.”

 

Leliana smirked, executing a combo attack that Trevelyan had to parry to avoid, stumbling slightly. “I imagine it would be more awkward to have a dagger in your side. Or perhaps,” she said thoughtfully, twirling her daggers around in her hands, “landing on your back again.”

 

Trevelyan narrowed her eyes in mock anger. “That never happened.”

 

“No?” Leliana asked. She performed a flank attack that Trevelyan moved to avoid, but halfway through, Leliana turned on her heel and switched to a spinning attack that had Trevelyan on her toes to dodge. Leliana moved to jab at the younger woman’s chest, knowing full well that she would successfully parry. When she did, Leliana pushed hard, and with the advantage of height and muscle, she sent Trevelyan toppling once again into the snow.

 

“It seems it just did.” Her smirk grew as she looked down at the brunette. “Again.”

 

Trevelyan’s cheeks flushed prettily, and she put a hand over her eyes, embarrassed. “Ugh.”

 

“Come on,” Leliana said, trying to make her expression less smug, offering a hand. Trevelyan peeked out at her from between her fingers for a second before finally lifting her hand and allowing herself to be pulled up.

 

When she was standing once again, Leliana glanced at her with a raised brow, her gaze drifting to the cut along her brow and cheek. “You ought to put a potion on that. It would heal much quicker that way, you know.”

 

Trevelyan brought a hand up to trace the cut. She shrugged a shoulder. “The Iron Bull told me it would make for a good scar. Make me look rugged, more roguish.”

 

Leliana snorted. “Of course he did.” Though she supposed he had a point, it did have a certain charm, now that it was less red and angry looking.

 

The two trained for another few minutes. There was too much to be done for either of them to spare any more time than that, but Trevelyan found herself feeling much more assured for what was to come having done it.

* * *

 

So many things had gone wrong so quickly at Redcliffe Castle. Alexius had managed to use an amulet to send Trevelyan and Dorian forward in time. What they found was a red lyrium-stricken castle, along with tortured and diseased versions of Trevelyan’s companions. Seeing the red glow behind Varric, Cassandra, and Iron Bull’s eyes made Trevelyan want to scream, and Leliana’s hollowed and ghostly face was worse.

 

Their only hope laid within the same amulet that had sent them to this cursed future in the first place. So there they were, in the Great Hall, Dorian vowing that he could send them back in time to the very moment they’d left, if only he could have an hour to work out the spell. An hour as the Elder One and his demons assaulted the castle. If they had minutes, they would be lucky.

 

And so her companions had offered to hold off the horde for as long as they could. Blood in exchange for time. Trevelyan refused, but it was soon clear that that was their only option if they wanted to be successful.

 

It tore Trevelyan apart. She watched as her friends began to leave her to position themselves around the hall. Leliana, who was still at her side, made a move to leave.

 

“Leliana, wait!” Trevelyan caught her wrist. The redhead turned, her haunted eyes boring into Trevelyan’s own.

 

“We must do this. It is the only way,” the spymaster said, gently removing herself from Trevelyan’s grip. She cast a look over her shoulder at the door, beyond which the wails of demons and clamor of Venatori warriors could be heard.

 

“I know,” Trevelyan said. It was unavoidable, no matter the dread that settled like ice in her veins at the thought of her friends’ sacrifice. She took a steadying breath, looking at the spymaster’s hollowed face. “I’m sorry, for everything that’s happened. I just want you to know, it won’t happen again. I won’t let it. The Inquisition _will_ restore order to Thedas.”

 

Leliana stared at her, and for a moment her gaze softened and there was a flicker of her old self in her blue eyes. “Thank you, Trevelyan,” she said softly, before turning away and stationing herself at the top of the stairs.

 

“Goodbye,” Trevelyan said, though she was out of earshot.

 

There was a violent scream, and there was a thud against the door, and then another and another. The door burst open and the Elder One’s army came pouring in. Trevelyan watched as her friends entered the fray. Cassandra bellowed and bashed a terror demon with her shield, bringing it to its knees. The Iron Bull charged in beside her, swinging his sword in a mighty arc at a swath of shades that tried to flank the warrior. Varric shot an explosive bolt from Bianca that caught a Venatori mage in the chest, igniting him in flames. Leliana fired arrow after arrow with ruthless precision.

 

For a moment, Trevelyan thought maybe they could turn the tide in their favor, but then another wave of demons roared in.

 

She gritted her teeth. “How’s it coming, Dorian?” she asked, hands clenching into fists at her side.

 

The mage didn’t look up, strands of magic twisting around him. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead, but he didn’t dare stop what he was doing to wipe it away. “Almost there!” he called.

 

So Trevelyan continued to watch, horror settling in the pit of her stomach, as her friends were overwhelmed. She wanted to turn away, wanted to close her eyes, but she knew not seeing wouldn’t make it any less real. Her friends were sacrificing their lives – for her. For the world. She would not close her eyes to that.

 

She watched as a terror demon grabbed hold of Leliana, the woman struggling in its grip. Her friend’s icy blue eyes found hers from across the room. In that moment, Trevelyan’s restraint faltered and she took a few steps forward. Dorian cried out, warning her about disturbing the magic, which she could already feel faintly tugging at her. She hesitated, right hand gripping her dagger, knuckles turning white.

 

Leliana’s lips moved, and though Trevelyan couldn’t hear the words, she knew what they were: “Promise me.” She nodded, lump in her throat, just as the terror demon dealt a deadly blow.

 

The magic took effect at last, pulling her backwards, and with a powerful jerk and a flash, she and Dorian were transported back to the Great Hall of Castle Redcliffe. Relief washed over her as she saw her companions, all very much alive and healthy, standing there next to Alexius, who was holding his amulet aloft as if he’d just used it.

 

“It’s over, Alexius,” she said firmly, stepping forward, trying to quell a surge of dark anger that spread like fire through her veins.

 

“No!” The magister fell to his knees, slumping onto the ground. “Felix…”

 

His son stepped forward as well, crouching down beside him. “Give up this madness, father.”

 

“But,” the old man’s voice broke, his bushy brows drawing together as he gazed at his son, “you’ll die.”

 

Trevelyan stared down at him, pity flooding her gut, drowning out her anger. Here was a man who’d tried to bend time itself to thwart the death of someone he cared for, to thwart the very thing she’d just witnessed. And in the end, it was still unavoidable. Her stomach turned at the thought.

 

“Everyone dies,” Felix responded calmly, and Trevelyan admired his bravery.

 

“But no more have to, not today,” Trevelyan said, offering a hand to the fallen magister. He gazed at it, and the room grew tensely silent as everyone waited, unsure. Finally, with a defeated sigh, Alexius took her hand. A surrender.

 

She helped him up and stood aside as two Inquisition soldiers led him away.

 

Dorian strolled up beside her. “Well, I’m glad that’s over with!” He said with an emphatic wave of his arms, and Trevelyan nodded tiredly – she couldn’t agree more.

 

And then more soldiers came marching into the hall – soldiers in distinctly Fereldan armor.

 

“Or not.” Dorian said, letting his arms fall to his side, brows furrowing.

 

On the soldier’s heels were Queen Anora and King Alastair of Fereldan.

 

“This day is one surprise after another,” Trevelyan muttered under her breath, listening as they rebuked Grand Enchanter Fiona for turning out Redcliffe villagers. Dorian smirked at her in agreement.

 

“Leave Fereldan, or we will be forced to make you leave,” King Alastair concluded gravely. His face was sallow, worn, and Trevelyan wondered if kingly life wasn’t wearing on the former Warden and hero.

 

Fiona protested. “We have hundreds who need protection! Where will we go?”

 

 _Out of the kettle, into the fire,_ Trevelyan thought. Mages hadn’t caught a break in Thedas in a long time.

 

“The Inquisition might be willing to take in the mages,” she said, stepping forward and into the conversation. She squared her shoulders and crossed her arms behind her back, striking what she hoped was an authoritative pose.

 

Fiona narrowed her eyes, skeptical. “And what are the terms of this arrangement?”

 

Dorian opened his mouth to say something, but Trevelyan beat him to it. “A full alliance. You have been prisoners for long enough.”

 

Immediately reactions from her companions rang out.

 

“You cannot be serious.”

 

“Boss!”

 

“Now there’s a twist I didn’t see coming.”

 

Trevelyan raised her hand to quiet them.

 

“A generous offer,” Fiona admitted, though her expression was still hesitant. “Will the rest of the Inquisition honor it, I wonder?”

 

“The Breach threatens us all. We must come together to defeat it.” Trevelyan replied earnestly.

 

Cassandra groaned, and Varric kicked her in the shin in response.

 

Trevelyan locked gazes with the elf. “We must have your full support. Anything less, and the world remains threatened.”

 

“A generous offer,” King Alastair acknowledged. If he was surprised, he did not show it. “I would suggest you take it. You will not get better from us.”

 

Fiona looked down in a moment of deliberation. “We accept,” she said, with a shake of her head. “It would be madness not to.”

 

Trevelyan nodded, her knees nearly buckling in relief. Finally, they stood a chance against the Breach.

 

“I will ready the mages for the journey to Haven.” Fiona hesitated, then added, voice warm with conviction, “We will close the Breach, Herald. You will not regret giving us this chance.”

 

Trevelyan sincerely hoped that was the case, and given the Grand Enchanter’s sincerity, she had faith it would be so.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short filler scene - next up is closing the Breach. Expect less fluff and more angst for awhile as things start to get serious for the Inquisition, but the fluff will return, I promise.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos and reviewed! This is my first venture into Ao3, so I'm not really sure if it's a thing to reply to each and every one (it's not on FF.net, but idk), but I want you all to know I appreciate each and every one :)

Trevelyan sighed, running a hand through her shoulder-length mabari-brown hair. Ever since her decision to ally with the mages (which her advisors, save Leliana, had chewed her out for the previous day), things felt slightly tense in Haven. Her companions for the most part were skeptical of the move, fearing the usual things one feared about mages: blood magic and abominations. Varric assured her that everyone would come around in time, but for now it felt as if she was treading on eggshells around almost everyone. The feeling was driving her mad.

 

Which was probably why she was making her way to Leliana’s tent, though half the time she thought her feet took her there of their own volition, with her almost surprised as she would wind up there yet again.

 

Leliana was sending out a raven as she approached, watching as the ebony bird launched into the air on powerful wings and quickly flew off. When she saw Trevelyan, she smiled.

 

“I was just sending off a letter to a contact about obtaining the lyrium we will need,” the redhead said, nodding in the direction the bird had flown in. They walked back to her tent.

 

“The sooner we can get it, the better,” Trevelyan agreed, crossing her arms comfortably around her chest and leaning on the tent pole. “It’s about time the hole in the sky was plugged up, once and for all.” She gave a slight smile at the thought.

 

“Yes, we will all rest easier once the Breach is closed.” Leliana frowned, leaning against her desk. “Though there is still the matter of this ‘Elder One’ and the dark future you saw.”

 

Trevelyan felt her mood dampen at the reminder. Saving the world couldn’t be simple, she supposed, though she couldn’t help but feel that with every step they took, they grew two steps behind the whole thing.

 

Leliana continued on, thoughtful. “Assassinating Empress Celene, raising a demon army, corrupted Templars, harnessing red lyrium…” Leliana shook her head. “It’s like he wants to strip the world of order and leave chaos in its wake.”

 

“He’s doing a good job of it, so far.” After receiving a look from Leliana at her uncharacteristic pessimism, she amended, “Winning the mages was a coup, and for now we have inside knowledge and the element of surprise. We’ll have to act quickly if we want to keep it, however.”

 

Leliana hummed in agreement, though she shot Trevelyan a probing look, crossing her arms. Trevelyan did her best not to squirm under the scrutiny.

 

“There’s something else, isn’t there? Something you didn’t share in the war room.”

 

It wasn’t really a question. Trevelyan cursed the redhead’s perceptiveness, or her own inability to keep secrets. She looked down at the ground to avoid the spymaster’s piecing gaze, and considered how to broach the topic. She’d kept the details of what had happened to herself; the weight feeling like her personal burden to bear. Something about having to repeat it aloud in an impersonal report around the war table felt wrong.

 

“Retrieving the amulet and getting back to the present was…difficult.” Trevelyan closed her eyes, remembering the wails of demons, how her companions fell one by one under the onslaught. A shudder ran down her spine. “In the final hour, we were almost overrun by the Elder One’s army. Many died to get us back.”

 

“Many more would have died had you not returned,” Leliana pointed out, watching the rogue closely. Objectively, Trevelyan knew she was right. It was still a hard truth to swallow.

 

Trevelyan took a few steps away to stand at the entrance of the tent, looking out at the people gathered around the Chantry. “In the final moments at Redcliffe, you…sacrificed yourself, so that I could return here,” she said haltingly, the words leaving a bitter aftertaste on her tongue. She watched the other woman out of the corner of her eye, awaiting her reaction.

 

“Of course I did.” Leliana said in a light-hearted tone and smiled, though Trevelyan thought she had a faraway look in her eyes. “One small life in exchange for a second chance at history? I always loved a bargain.” She walked forward to stand at Trevelyan’s side.

 

The younger woman shook her head with a frown. _More bloody arithmetic_ , she thought. She knew the spymaster operated under a rather ruthless calculus, but hearing it aloud and having seen it in action brought it into an uncomfortable display. It felt wrong, to be so ready for martyrdom.

 

“One small life? Don’t sell yourself short, Spymaster,” she said, attempting to match Leliana’s light tone but still unable to meet her eyes.

 

Leliana rolled her eyes, though concern showed there. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” she teased.

 

It was just an idea to her, her death, Trevelyan knew; a distant and hazy possibility. Many people would accept this notion of their death, this bartering of their life for a noble cause, only to abandon it the second the danger actually became imminent. Leliana would not, Trevelyan realized. Leliana would run the blade through her heart herself if she truly thought it would save the Inquisition.

 

“At any rate,” she said, turning to face the spymaster and meeting her eyes at last. “Let’s hope it never comes to that. You are more than duty and sacrifice.”

 

Leliana looked surprised at her words, her brows raising. She was quiet a moment, as if at a loss for how to respond, before she changed the subject. “It really bothers you, what you saw at Redcliffe, doesn’t it?”

 

Trevelyan closed her eyes. Too many people had died to get her where she was, too many had died while she was spared. First everyone in the Conclave, including Divine Justinia. And now she’d seen her friends (albeit a different version of them) die for her as well. Yet people looked up to her as if she was a savior, a tool of Andraste even, so enamored with the mark on her hand that they forgot the blood there as well. Of course it bothered her. What good was a savior that couldn’t save anyone?

 

“All’s well that ends well, isn’t that what they say? I’m fine.” She smiled, though it came out as more of a grimace. Suddenly the tent felt suffocating, as if all the dark feelings swirling in her mind were poisoning the air. She had to leave. “I’m going to go ensure the mages are settling in properly. Thank you for your support in that, by the way. I know siding with the mages as allies was not a popular decision.” With that, she walked off, barely able to look the spymaster in the eyes as she left.

 

“Of…course,” Leliana said, bewildered, watching the brunette go. The conversation had been like a path through the Deep Roads, full of twists and turns and leaving her feeling slightly lost and more than a tad concerned. Before she could ponder it, however, one of her agents ran up with an inquiry. She resolved to keep an eye on the Herald, shooting her retreating form a last look before turning to her agent and beckoning him inside.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Your Heart Shall Burn - a celebration and a sacrifice. This chapter was a bunch of fun to write. It's long, but hopefully you enjoy! Let me know :) And next chapter will be the "The Dawn Will Come" scene and a confrontation (a certain spymaster is NOT happy).

This time, Trevelyan didn’t pass out from closing the Breach, for which she thanked the Maker. All in all, it’d been rather anticlimactic, she thought, not that she’d been looking forward to fighting another enormous Pride demon. Still, to look up at the sky and realize that after all these painstaking weeks, the deed was done, just like that, almost seemed too easy.

 

The brunette shook her head. Nothing about the process had been simple, she reminded herself, clenching her marked hand in a fist. And there was still so much more to do, so why not relish their victories why she could?

 

The rest of Haven was celebrating. She stood on the overhang near the Chantry and watched with a small smile. Everyone was drinking and laughing and dancing. She even spied Adan, the surly apothecary, standing around a fire grinning into his ale at something Minaeve said. Sera was shrieking with laughter as she rode on Iron Bull’s shoulders as he and the Chargers danced to a jaunty tune she didn’t recognize (and would probably be thankful she was too far away to hear the words to). Varric had drawn a crowd as he told one of his stories, catching her eye and winking conspirationally. Dorian was trying to draw a blushing Cullen out to dance, with Cassandra smirking at his attempts. Vivian had even gotten off her high horse and was speaking with Fiona, though the elf’s face was drawn warily, not that Trevelyan blamed her. All in all, it was a festive affair, and the rogue felt her spirits lift at the sight.

 

Footsteps and laughing voices sounded behind her, and she turned. Leliana and Josephine were coming from the Chantry, Josephine saying something in between chuckles and Leliana shaking her head, eyes twinkling. When the redhead saw her standing there, she patted the Antivan’s elbow and murmured something to her, then made her way over to Trevelyan. Trevelyan grinned at her approach, happy to see the spymaster relaxed and cheerful.

 

“The skies are calm, a first in a long time, thanks to you,” the spymaster said, coming to stand at the brunette’s side, shooting her a pointed look. “You should be celebrating.”

 

“You know how many were involved in this. Luck put me at the center.” Trevelyan said, adding wryly, “Though I’m not sure if it was good or bad luck.”

 

“Whichever it is, it has been a boon so far, no?” Trevelyan supposed she couldn’t argue with that, so she nodded, and Leliana smiled, then nudged the younger woman with her elbow playfully, nodding to where a group of people were skipping and dancing near the fire. “And speaking of being in the center, perhaps it’s time we learned whether the famed Herald of Andraste can dance?”

 

Trevelyan laughed at that. Her dancing was atrocious (when she had been younger, she had once tripped her date at one of her aunt’s balls – her cheeks flushed at the memory). She turned to the other woman, about to reply, when she faltered.

 

Leliana was beautiful, Trevelyan realized. Anyone with eyes could see the redhead was pretty, but when she smiled like this… it was a sight to behold, truly, and it took Trevelyan’s breath away. Butterflies formed in her stomach as Leliana looked at her, amused at her tongue-tiedness. Maker, how hadn’t she noticed her attraction to the spymaster before this?

 

Suddenly, the bells started tolling, and an Inquisition soldier ran up to Cullen, gesturing furiously. The Commander’s face paled, and he shouted above the din of the revelry, “Forces approaching! To arms!”

 

The mood immediately shifted. The noise of the crowd transformed from laughter to murmurs and panicked shouts as everyone started moving in all directions at once.

 

“Get to the main gate,” Leliana said, jumping into action at once. She spotted one of her scouts nearby and shouted to him. “Gather everyone who cannot fight into the Chantry!”

 

Trevelyan left her to organize her scouts and ran down the steps towards Haven’s entrance. She spotted Cassandra ahead, moving the same direction as she was, and passed Dorian as she came to the second set of stairs, tugging on his robes to get him to follow her.

 

“It’s not a true party without an invasion!” He joked, falling in step beside her, worry forming a wrinkle in his brow.

 

Varric joined them as they neared the gate. “What kind of parties are they throwing in Tevinter?” He quipped.

 

“Cullen, what’s the situation?” Trevelyan broke in. The Commander was standing guard, barking orders to scattered troops. He seemed relieved at their approach.

 

“One watchguard reporting. It’s a massive force, the bulk over the mountain.” He gestured towards the gate, and Trevelyan moved to stand in front of it.

 

“Under what banner?” Josephine asked, and Trevelyan wondered the same, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

 

“None,” he said, glancing at the ambassador and noting Leliana’s arrival with a nod.

 

“None?” Josephine exclaimed incredulously, but Trevelyan returned her attention to the gate, hearing shouts and metallic clangs, signaling a struggle.

 

Maker, up close the gate seemed so _thin_ , just barely a few inches of wood protecting the village from the dangers outside. A nervous soldier stood sentry, shifting from foot to foot and eyeing the crack under the gate uncertainly. Trevelyan strained her ears, listening intently for the sounds of a fight.

 

“I can’t come in unless you open!” A boyish voice called out, sounding vexed.

 

Trevelyan hesitated, then ran forward, hearing the heavy sound of Cullen’s footsteps following her. The sentry pushed open the gate and stood aside, and they ran out. A lone warrior stood, garbed in impressive, dark armor and a pointed face mask. A ring of similarly-clad warriors were sprawled on the ground around him. Trevelyan frowned, confused, until she heard the familiar bodily sound of a dagger meeting flesh, and the warrior crumpled to the ground, revealing a slight figure behind him. Trevelyan’s confusion returned at the sight of a young man (in what appeared to be plain clothes, where was his armor?) wearing an absurd-looking hat, ghostly white hair peeking out underneath.

 

“I’m Cole,” he said. “I came to warn you. To help. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know.” He stepped forward urgently, distress showing in his pale eyes.

 

“What is this? What’s going on?” Trevelyan pressed him.

 

“The Templars come to kill you.”

 

Cullen stepped forward angrily. “Templars? Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?”

 

Cole flinched away, holding his arms out defensively, eyeing Cullen’s drawn sword. “The Red Templars went to the Elder One,” he said, addressing the Commander. “You know him? He knows you. You took his mages.” He turned back to Trevelyan, frantic. “There!” He pointed up at a nearby mountain.

 

Trevelyan looked up, dread settling heavily in her limbs. Standing on a low peak was a broad-shouldered man in crimson armor, wielding a nasty-looking broadsword. At his side was a much taller…creature, Trevelyan supposed, because despite its human-like features it could only generously be called a man. She knew without a doubt that this was the same mastermind from the future she’d seen at Redcliffe, and clenched her jaw at the thought.

 

“I know that man,” Cullen said, referring to the crimson-armored warrior, brows knit together as he contemplated. “But this Elder One…”

 

Cole interrupted. “He’s very angry that you took his mages.”

 

Trevelyan cursed, then turned to the sandy-haired commander. “Cullen! Give me a plan! Anything!”

 

Luckily, he was a step ahead of her. Thank the Maker for his quick thinking. “Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle.” He motioned to the trebuchet outside Haven. “Get out there and hit that force. Use everything you can!”

 

Cullen turned back to the gate, where soldiers and mages had gathered. “Mages! You - you have sanction to engage them,” he instructed, not without some difficulty. It seemed Templar training was hard to shake off, even on the brink of battle. “That is Samson. He will not make it easy!” He then addressed the soldiers. “Inquisition, with the Herald. For your lives! For all of us!” He roared, waving his sword in the air.

 

With that, Trevelyan surged forward, drawing her daggers from their sheaths. Cassandra, Varric, and Dorian joined her, and they ran as one towards the northern trebuchet. A small battalion of the enemy had already advanced that far – a handful of Red Templars and a few red lyrium-infested demons. They fought their way through, Cassandra taking point and using her shield as a bludgeon, Trevelyan flanking enemies and striking their vulnerable spots, and Varric and Dorian dealing ranged damage. They made for ferocious enemies, the Templars well trained and the demons barely flinching under their blows. Trevelyan was covered in blood (some of it her own) by the time they’d cleared the area.

 

“Maker,” she said between pants, wiping her daggers on her coat. She watched as Inquisition forces took to the trebuchet and began preparing it for fire.

 

“They were stronger than expected,” Cassandra agreed, eyes on the horizon, trying to make out any enemy advances.

 

“It’s the lyrium. It’s cursed,” Varric spat on the ground, wiping Bianca clean with his sleeve.

 

There was creaking as the trebuchet fired, and the soldiers whooped.

 

“They felt that!” One cried, then turned to the party. “We’ll reload – you get to the other trebuchet, it isn’t firing!”

 

Trevelyan nodded and took off down the southern path. She made it into the clearing and immediately saw the problem – the few Inquisition soldiers there were struggling to fend off about a dozen Red Templars. Gritting her teeth, she circled, scanning for an opening. A Templar left his back open as he struck at an archer, and she rushed in, plunging her blades in between the crevices of his armor. Stumbling, he whirled on her, eyes dark and dangerous, and raised his sword. Trevelyan readied herself, but the blow never came. A crossbow bolt thudded into his chest, felling him.

 

“Watch yourself!” Varric warned, loading another bolt. She nodded and jumped back into the fray.

 

This battle was worse than the last. A Red Templar almost flanked her, and she only avoided his strike by flinging herself to the ground. Dorian froze him solid, and Cassandra shattered him with a well-aimed bash of her shield.

 

“We have to fall back!” The Inquisition soldiers shouted as Cassandra ran her blade through the last remaining horror demon. Trevelyan looked back and felt her stomach drop when she saw only two of their soldiers remained, the rest slain in battle. “She’s hurt, I’ve got to get her to a medic!”

 

The Inquisition agent, an archer, was clutching her stomach, blood showing between her fingers. She was pale with fear and shock, her brown eyes wide as saucers. The soldier, a man barely old enough to shave, his legs shaking slightly, held her up. Trevelyan nodded at him, and the two hobbled off. _You’ll be alright, sister, just stay strong,_ she heard him mumble, voice high-pitched and borderline hysterical, and felt her heart clench.

 

“We’ve got to man the trebuchet. Keep watch,” she ordered the others, taking the platform stairs two at a time and turning the crank. It groaned beneath her hands, and she had to strain her muscles against it, but finally, finally with a last turn it fired. They watched the stone arc through the air, hitting the mountainside and causing an avalanche that covered much of the basin, taking a large portion of the enemy forces with it.

 

The faint sound of cheers from the Inquisition forces at the northern trebuchet could be heard, and Trevelyan smiled, shoulders slumping in relief. She could remember the advisors teasing Cullen about his obsessive insistence as to the maintenance of all the Inquisition’s weaponry, including the trebuchets. He was in for a bear hug the next time she saw him.

 

Her ears perked at an odd sound, almost a leathery whoosh, and then she was aware of two things at once: a stream of fire colliding with the trebuchet and obliterating it, and a large shadow passing overhead. The collision sent them all flying.

 

“Dragon!” Cassandra warned from her right, voice hoarse. “We can’t face it here. We have to…do something!”

 

Trevelyan picked herself up, wincing at the protest by her sore muscles. _They have a dragon!_ She thought, watching the creature tear through the sky ahead of them. “Everyone to the gates!” She shouted.

 

They sprinted up the path, stopping only to help the blacksmith Harritt force open the door to his forge so he could grab essentials. Trevelyan warned him not to linger and they went on.

 

Cullen was standing at the gate and ushered them through. He glanced behind them, seeing the blacksmith a few paces off, huffing as he ran. Cullen grabbed him as soon as he was close and pulled him through, then shut the gate and deadbolted it.

 

“We need everyone back to the Chantry,” he said, taking the steps two at a time. “It’s the only building that might hold against that beast!” He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head in exasperation. He paused on the top step. “At this point…just make them work for it.” He said with a grimace.

 

Trevelyan’s heart sank. She knew they were in a tight spot, but for the Commander to be throwing in the towel now… No. She set her jaw determinedly, waiting for everyone else to pass her and scanning them for signs of injury before following them towards the Chantry. They had just closed the Breach, she would not accept defeat now. Maybe within the security of four stone walls they would be able to marshal an actionable plan.

 

They took a snaking path to the Chantry, helping villagers along the way. By the time they made it to the Chantry doors, helping Threnn dispatch a hoard of Red Templars that had made it into the clearing, the village was deserted.

 

The doors swung open at their approach, and Chancellor Roderick, clutching at his side, waved them in. “Move! Keep going, the Chantry is your shelter!”

 

They rushed inside, and the Chancellor crumpled. Cole, the young man from before, caught him, helping him to stand. It was then that Trevelyan noticed how pale the Chancellor was, the only color on his face coming from the bags under his eyes.

 

Cole saw her staring and offered a frank explanation as he led the wounded man further into the Chantry. “He tried to stop a Templar. The blade went deep. He is going to die.”

 

Roderick snorted. “What a… _charming_ boy.”

 

Before she could give it any more thought, Cullen returned to her. “Herald! Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you may have earned for us.”

 

Cole seated Roderick in a chair and kneeled beside him, then turned to them. “I’ve seen an archdemon. I was in the Fade, but it looked like that.” Trevelyan stared at him, unsure how to process that information.

 

Cullen frowned. “I don’t care what it looks like. It has cut a path for that army. It’ll kill everyone in Haven!”

 

Cole wasn’t fazed by his outburst. “The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald.”

 

“If it will save these people, he can have me,” Trevelyan said automatically. They were quickly running out of other options.

 

Cole glanced at her. “It won’t. No one else matters, but he will crush them, kill them anyway.” He stared down at his hands. “I don’t like him.”

 

“Don’t like him? You don’t like…?” Cullen echoed, staring at the youth as if he’d grown a second head. He turned back to Trevelyan. “Herald. There are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide.”

 

Trevelyan’s eyes widened in alarm. “To hit the enemy we’d bury Haven?” She knew they were running out of possibilities, but was that truly the only one left?

 

Cullen nodded, face grave. “We’re dying, but we can decide how. Many don’t get even that choice.”

 

A lump started to form in Trevelyan’s throat, but Cole spoke up suddenly.

 

“Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.”

 

Beside him, Roderick gestured feebly, speaking in faltering sentences. “There is…a path. You wouldn’t know it, unless you’d made the summer pilgrimage as I have.” He rose from his chair excitedly. “The people can escape! She must have shown me…Andraste must have shown me so I could t-tell you!”

 

Trevelyan stared at him, then said over her shoulder, “What about it, Cullen? Will it work?”

 

“Will what work?” A familiar voice asked, and Leliana walked up to them, standing at Cullen’s side. She crossed her arms and looked from face to face, searching.

 

“Roderick knows of a possible escape route,” the Commander filled her in, then shot Trevelyan a questioning look. “It could work. But what of-”

 

Trevelyan’s gaze hardened. “Prepare everyone for the journey.” Now that they had this slim chance, she would not squander it. No matter what it meant for herself.

 

Cullen’s eyes widened as he understood, and he nodded before turning and directing the troops. Cole slung the Chancellor’s arm over his shoulder, helping him walk, but Roderick paused next to her.

 

“Herald, if you are meant for this – if the Inquisition is meant for this…” He closed his eyes, letting out a ragged breath. “I pray for you.”

 

Even with the gravity of the situation, or maybe because of it, Trevelyan couldn’t help but feel touched. Roderick was a good man after all. A skeptic and an occasional hard-ass, but the point remained. She nodded and Cole led him away.

 

Leliana came up to her. “What does he mean, he’ll pray for you?” She put a hand on the younger woman’s elbow, forcing her to stand still, blue eyes searching. “Trevelyan, what else is going on?”

 

Trevelyan looked at her and couldn’t help but be reminded of the haunted Leliana from Redcliffe. “I have a promise to keep,” she said, taking a step backwards, shaking her head at the spymaster’s perplexed expression. “We don’t have much time before we’re surrounded. You should send your best agents to scout a path ahead. We’re not dying here.” At least, no one else was.

 

Leliana hesitated, knowing there was more but that there wasn’t enough time to press her about it, then nodded. “Alright. But then you owe me an explanation.”

 

“Of course,” Trevelyan agreed, watching the redhead as she walked off, calling to one of her agents and giving him a hushed order. She tried not to think too hard about the fact that it might be the last time she saw the other woman, that those might be their last words. _Don’t be melodramatic,_ she thought, turning away, though she still felt an ache deep in her chest.

 

Cullen, flanked by four soldiers, ran up to her. “They’ll load the trebuchets. Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the tree line.” He watched as Trevelyan made her way to the door. “If we are to have a chance – if you are to have a chance – let that thing hear you.”

 

Trevelyan turned, locking eyes with him. “Cullen…watch over everyone, if…if I don’t return,” she said. The Commander nodded, and Trevelyan smiled faintly, then went with the soldiers back into the village. She let her gaze drift over each of the buildings, etching them into her memory, trying not to wonder how long they (or she) would still be standing.

 

They made their way south to the sole trebuchet that was within Haven’s walls. The enemy was beginning to infiltrate the village, and they had to fight their way through. It was a more difficult fight with the soldiers instead of her regular companions by her side, and Trevelyan’s muscles screamed in agony by the time they readied the trebuchet. But just before they could fire, the dragon was back.

 

“Move!” Trevelyan commanded, eyes on the beast. It sent down a jet of fire that they only just managed to duck out of the way of.

 

And then Trevelyan saw him. Silhouetted in the fire as he came, the Elder One approached. He stood heads taller than most men, skin a sickly pallor, his hands more like talons. He sneered as his eyes met hers, and Trevelyan realized with horror that the red lyrium surrounding his face was actually attached to his skin.

 

The ground shook, the dragon landing and ambling towards her. Its fangs bared, each easily as long as her hand, eyes beady and wild. It roared, lowering its head to be level with her.

 

“Enough!” The Elder One waved a hand and a blast of magic shot towards her. “Pretender! You toy with forces beyond your ken no more.”

 

Trevelyan snarled, glaring at this monster, this destroyer. “What are you, and why are you doing this?”

 

“Mortals beg for truth they cannot have,” he said, voice dripping contempt. “It is beyond what you _are_ or what I _was_. Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One, the will that is Corypheus.” He pointed a long, claw-like finger at her. “You will kneel.”

 

Trevelyan’s eyes flashed, and she gripped her daggers. “I would rather die.”

 

The monster – Corypheus – seemed amused by her answer, holding a black orb aloft. “You will get your wish soon enough. But first, you will give me what I seek. The process of removing the Anchor begins now.”

 

Before Trevelyan could process what he said, the orb crackled with red magic. Corypheus reached out a hand, and her own, the one with the mark, began to glow. Sharp pain radiated through her arm, and she clutched it with a cry, falling to her knees.

 

“It is your fault, ‘Herald.’ You interrupted a ritual years in the planning.” He took a step forward. “Instead of dying, you stole its purpose!” He waved his hand, magic sparking in his palm, and as if in answer green tendrils of magic swirled from her mark. “I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as ‘touched,’ what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens.”

 

He closed his hand in a fist, and green sparks erupted from her palm. It felt like her veins were on fire, nerves erupting in agony, and she felt a bead of sweat drip down her face. Corypheus stared at her, unyielding, face impassive. The dragon circled her.

 

“You used the Anchor to undo my work. The gall!” He snarled.

 

Trevelyan, tears streaming down her face from the pain, glared up at him. She clenched her hand as if it would help her mark stay put. “What is this thing meant to do?”

 

Corypheus looked smug. “It is meant to bring certainty where there is none. For you, the certainty that I would always come for it.”

 

Of course she’d been foolish to expect answers from him. Talk to a monster and get nothing but riddles and corrupted logic. Corypheus strode forward, gripping her wrist tightly and pulling her into the air as if she were nothing but a doll. He held his scarred face close to her, and she flinched from how human his eyes appeared, despite his madness.

 

“I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the old gods of the empire in person.” His gaze clouded at the memory, but he continued. “I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more,” he said, shaking her. “I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty!”

 

He threw her, and she tumbled through the air before her back hit the wood of the trebuchet. Her vision went dark for a moment, but when it cleared she saw a sword lying at her feet, and she scrambled to reach it before straightening and facing Corypheus and the dragon. Corypheus didn’t seem to care that she was now armed, and she had to admit that she was a rather feeble threat.

 

“The Anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling. No matter.” Trevelyan caught movement out of the corner of her eye and toned out his ramblings.

 

There, at a point just above the tree line, a flare blazed in the sky. Trevelyan was almost giddy with relief. So everyone had made it out under the enemy’s nose. Thank the Maker.

 

“I will not suffer even an unknowing rival,” Corypheus was saying. The blighted creature sure could _talk_. “You must die.”

 

Trevelyan eyed the crank to the trebuchet. It was a scant few feet away. If she could only make it, keep as many of the enemy off Haven’s people as long as possible… She raised her sword higher. “You expect us to kneel? We won’t. You expect us to die?” She lunged forward, kicking the crank. “Not today.”

 

The trebuchet sprung to life, flinging a rock into the air. The dragon and its master watched it fly, but Trevelyan ditched her sword and sprinted. There was what looked like a hole nearby, leading who knows where, but it might offer shelter, if she could only reach it.

 

The dragon roared, and Trevelyan felt the wind whip around her as it took off. The air became heavy with snow as an avalanche caused by the rock striking the nearby mountainside neared. Trevelyan flung herself into the opening, feeling a pressure on her back as the snow reached her. She fell, and after a frightening moment suspended in air, she smacked the ground below, the force staggering her. As she drifted into unconsciousness, she smiled.

 

They made it.


	9. 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday everyone! Another long chapter. Let me know what you think of this one, I may tweak it a bit. I started writing it from Trevelyan's POV, but instead changed it to Leliana's, because we haven't heard from her in a few chapters.

Events had spiraled so far out of the Inquisition’s control in so few hours, and as Haven’s escapees made camp in the blizzard, they were still reeling. As the villagers went to work putting up tents, Cullen walked over to where Leliana and Josephine were standing, carrying a scroll in his hand.

 

“I had one of the soldiers pack the map from the war room. I thought perhaps we could set up a war table of sorts and discuss strategy, what do you say?”

 

Leliana narrowed her eyes. “Oh, are we making decisions together now?” She sniped, and watched in satisfaction as he flinched. To say she was angry would be an understatement – she was _furious._ One of the most important decisions they’d ever faced had been made on a whim by the commander, without consulting any of the other advisors, undermining the precarious ruling order of the Inquisition. And as a result, the Herald – the defining symbol the Inquisition and what they stood for – was dead.

 

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. “We had no choice,” he said, trying and failing to keep the edge from his voice.

 

Leliana crossed her arms, stepping forward into the commander’s personal space, causing him to retreat a pace. “How would you know? Did you stop to consider any alternatives, or barrel on with the first idea that popped into your head, which as per usual involved brute force?” And Trevelyan, smiling, laughing, eager Trevelyan, had paid the price… Leliana felt a flare of violent anger at the thought.

 

“Enough!” Cassandra bellowed, walking up from behind them, her exasperation making her Nevarran accent thicker than usual. She pushed Leliana and Cullen apart and situated herself between them as a barrier, scowling. “Incessant bickering will not change the blood that has been spilled tonight. We cannot move backwards, only forward.”

 

Leliana grit her teeth and shot Cullen a glare, but took a step back. Josephine took her arm, but whether it was meant to be a show of support or restraint she wasn’t sure. She turned to her friend and noticed the tears in her eyes, feeling her heart clench at the sight. Josephine was as pure-hearted as the gold of her dress; this calamity was hitting her hard. Leliana gripped her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.

 

In silence, the four gathered materials to create a makeshift headquarters. Cassandra started a fire with logs and sticks that Josephine collected, Cullen having soldiers fetch spare bits of lumber and then constructing a crude table and benches from them, Leliana helping Mother Giselle, Dorian, and Adan set up a large healer’s tent. The work, while not calming, at least gave them a sense of purpose for the better part of an hour, a feeling that quickly fled when they were done and gathered around the fire.

 

Cassandra stood at the table, smoothing the map over it and nailing it down so it wouldn’t flutter in the wind. She stared at it a moment, and then turned to Leliana. “Do you have any idea where we are?”

 

Leliana shook her head. “The blizzard is too intense to make out any distinguishable landmarks, and until it dies down I cannot risk sending any scouts out.”

 

Cassandra nodded, frowning. “When we least need another enemy, the weather becomes one.”

 

“We should tend to everyone, first,” Josephine piped up, staring into the flames. “Prepare whatever hot meal we can scrape together, aid the injured. Talk can wait while the hungry and hurt cannot.” She brought her hands to her face, massaging her temples.

 

Cassandra protested. “We do not know what dangers surround us-”

 

“Which is why we must strengthen our position here. If we were being pursued, we would know by now,” Leliana pointed out. After a moment, Cassandra nodded.

 

Two soldiers ran up, reporting to Cullen but acknowledging all of them. They shivered despite their armor, but their eyes glowed with a (somewhat surprising, at least to Leliana) inner fire.

 

“Ah, excuse me, sers,” the first said, an older man with the beginnings of gray speckling his beard. “Commander, a lad is missing. We’ve searched the camp, but no one has seen him since we’ve settled and he was sent for firewood. We think perhaps he’s lost in the blizzard.”

 

“He’s my son, ser, please, we have to find him!” the other soldier, a middle-aged woman with auburn hair and worried eyes, stepped forward.

 

Cullen regarded them both, face serious. If they were to save the boy, he knew they had to act fast. The last wish of the Herald echoed in his mind. “Very well. Gather as many as will join us and we will canvas the area. Quickly,” he added, to spur them into action. They nodded, offering a hurried thanks and jogging off.

 

“I will go with you,” Cassandra said, then turned to Leliana and Josephine. “Tend to the camp, and when we return we will resume our conversation.”

 

She and Cullen followed after the soldiers, and Leliana called to one of her agents, assigning him to their search party as well. She did not doubt the Seeker’s tracking and scouting abilities, seeing as the raven-haired warrior had been a dragon hunter, but another set of trained eyes never hurt.

 

With that, she and Josephine went around the camp to scavenger food and medical supplies from the spare items that had been brought from Haven. Leliana knew that it would be quicker and more efficient if they split up, but she noticed the ambassador’s hands shaking ever so slightly, a soft vulnerability behind the determined mask she put on, and decided against it.

 

All things being said, the villagers had made it out with a surprising amount, which Leliana could tell Josephine was heartened by. While a lot of the food people had brought was odds and ends that wouldn’t last long, Solas and Adan had had the foresight to pack as many herbs and potions as they could carry. Flissa, the owner of Haven’s tavern, even came up to them, looking slightly confused but holding out a teapot and a pouch of tea leaves, saying that someone (she couldn’t remember who) had given it to her to give to Josephine, who accepted it with wide eyes and a small, surprised smile. The entire time, Leliana had the distinct feeling they were being watched, but saw no one around them.

 

“Well!” Josephine said after she handed the supplies they’d assembled off to an elf Leliana recognized as one of the cooks. The Antivan looped her arm around Leliana’s, guiding her back to the fire Cassandra had made. “It may not be much, but it’s a good start, yes?”

 

“It’s a start,” Leliana agreed, standing over the map and mentally calculating where she had agents stationed. Once the blizzard cleared, she would have to get word to them. She’d sent out ravens during the attack, but she wasn’t sure if they’d been shot down by Corypheus’ army, and regardless she’d need to update the agents on their whereabouts. Once they determined where exactly they were. She had to keep planning, keep thinking of the future – it was the only way to keep her thoughts from turning dark and bleak.

 

Josephine had seated herself near the fire, setting the teapot to boil and pulling out a spare piece of parchment and quill they’d found. The quill would eventually run out of ink, but for now she wrote a list of nobles and allies to contact for aid.

 

Many long moments passed before Leliana became aware of figures approaching. As they neared, she saw that it was a group of four soldiers, one of them carrying a boy in his arms. She recognized two as the soldiers that had originally run up to Cullen, and as they passed she caught the arm of one of them, pulling her aside.

 

“Why didn’t the Commander and Cassandra return with you?” Leliana asked, looking past them into the darkness but not being able to see anything but falling snow.

 

“The Seeker thought she saw movement farther ahead, possibly another survivor,” the young woman said, eyeing the healer’s tent where the boy was being carried.

 

“A survivor?” Immediately a hopeful thought sprung to mind – could it be? – but she squashed it before it could take root.

 

“Aye, ma’am, but I don’t know much more than that.” The soldier fidgeted, waiting to be dismissed, and Leliana waved her off absent-mindedly.

 

The next few minutes were tense, but finally Cassandra and Cullen returned. And there, cradled in Cullen’s arms, was the Herald, pale and unconscious but very much alive.

 

Leliana let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, closing her eyes and feeling a wave of relief so strong that she had to sit.

 

Trevelyan, despite all odds (and, she thought with a flare of anger, despite the woman’s best attempt at _dying_ ) was alive.

 

There was a small sound next to her, and she opened her eyes. Josephine had come over and set a mug of tea in front of her.

 

“Leliana…” Josephine trailed off, unsure of what to say to her friend. Instead, she put a comforting hand on her shoulder, then sat down next to her. They drank in companionable silence, watching the healer’s tent from afar.

 

Cassandra and Cullen returned, and for a long time nothing was said. But, given all of their frayed nerves, when the conversation did start, it quickly turned heated and escalated to a full-blown argument over strategy and the Inquisition’s next steps.

 

Given their diverse backgrounds and preferred tactics, it was an argument doomed to failure and frustration, and that’s exactly where they ended up hours later, when they finally settled into a broody ceasefire.

 

Leliana caught movement out of the corner of her eye and looked up. Trevelyan had awakened, looking rather worse for the wear, and had struggled to her feet, leaning against a tent pole and watching them.

 

Leliana was moving before she’d realized it, crossing to the tent resolutely. Trevelyan took a shaky step out to meet her.

 

Trevelyan opened her mouth to say something, but Leliana raised her hand. She could already feel her temper flaring at the thought of whatever nonchalant greeting the brunette would think to give after pulling the stunt she did.

 

“Don’t,” she said, cutting the younger woman off. Trevelyan’s eyes widened, caught off guard by the sharpness of the redhead’s voice.

 

Leliana grabbed a fistful of the rogue’s collar and all but dragged her to the side where they’d at least have a semblance of privacy. Once they were out of earshot of the others, she released her, and the younger woman stumbled a bit.

 

She turned to Trevelyan, crossing her arms. “You! What were you _thinking_?”

 

Trevelyan held her arms out defensively. “I don’t know what-”

 

Leliana cut her off angrily. “You’re the heart of the Inquisition! To throw your life away in some foolish last stand…” She frowned, leveling Trevelyan with a glare that would halt a terror demon.

 

“It had to be done,” the other woman said evenly, her eyes still wide. The simple answer infuriated Leliana even more.

 

“Why? So you could play the hero to the very end?” Leliana’s voice was harsh even to her own ears, her mouth twisted into a fierce scowl. Her eyes flashed dangerously. “A lot of good a dead hero does for the living.” And Leliana would know, wouldn’t she? The thought whispered through her mind before she could stop it, the shadow of the Warden hanging over her, always hanging over her, though he’d been gone so long, and now Divine Justinia’s joining it.

 

“Play the hero?” Trevelyan asked, sounding incredulous. “Maker take a hero! I wasn’t ‘playing at’ anything more than sparing the lives of all the people I’ve worked side by side with for the past few months, for all the people I’ve grown to care about.” Her voice cracked on the last sentence, but she barreled on, her voice rising in both volume and pitch. “I didn’t throw my life away in a last stand, I ‘bargained’ it, for every single person standing here, including you.” She stared defiantly at Leliana, brown eyes dark and dangerous, her severely chapped lips starting to bleed. “And I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

 

Leliana practically snarled at her own words being used against her and thrown in her face. She couldn’t even begin to detangle the dark mess of her own emotions, and she wasn’t sure she’d want to. It was easier to fashion them all into anger: anger was utilitarian, it was a fire blazing white-hot that could melt away anything else that remained.

 

“And it would be just as reckless,” she said scornfully.

 

Trevelyan closed her eyes. She was silent a moment, her expression smoothing, and it was then that Leliana began to notice little details. The paleness of her usually glowing, sun-kissed skin. The stoop to her shoulders. The slight blue tinge to her lips. The way she shook slightly in the cold.

 

She looked so frail it was frightening, and fear was not something Leliana was accustomed to dealing with - fear meant she had something to _lose_. She tried desperately to hold on to her anger, but she could feel it cooling.

 

“You cannot control everything, Spymaster,” Trevelyan said at last, opening her eyes. There was a soft expression in them that was bewildering and one that Leliana was sure she didn’t deserve. “Some things are a gamble. Thankfully, this one paid off.”

 

Control was Leliana’s _job_ , if she couldn’t have that, everything around her would crumble like sand and she’d be left with nothing. She had come too far, seen too much, _lost_ too much, to have nothing.

 

“And what happens the next time you ‘gamble?’” she asked, levelling her voice into as neutral a tone as she could muster. “You are a hypocrite, telling me not to sacrifice myself and then turning around and doing the same.”

 

“What does it matter!” Trevelyan exclaimed, exasperated, shuddering. “The Breach is closed. The usefulness of my mark has played itself out. I’m no longer vital to the Inquisition. I’m just a soldier, albeit one that glows occasionally.” Her voice was breathy, and as she waved her hand in emphasis at what she just said, the action seemed to unsteady her. “You… you’re _different_.”

 

Dumbfounded, Leliana could only echo the absurd words she heard. “What does it matter-? Oh!” she cut off as she saw Trevelyan sway on her feet.

 

She moved forward automatically. Trevelyan regained her balance and held up a hand to ward her off, then pinched the bridge of her nose with the other.

 

“I’m fine.” No sooner were the words out then she stumbled.

 

Leliana was at her side in an instant, gripping the younger woman’s shoulders to steady her.

 

“Spoke too soon,” Trevelyan murmured, the hint of a rueful smile on her pale face. She closed her eyes and sighed, breath hanging like a cloud in the chill air. “I’m so…tired.” Her words came slow, halting. “I guess the adrenaline rush from having an entire mountain fall on you doesn’t last too long, who knew?” She snorted at her own joke, sinking more firmly into Leliana’s grip.

 

“You’re lucky the mountain got to you before I did,” Leliana said, slinging Trevelyan’s arm around her shoulders and bringing her own to the brunette’s back, helping her stand upright.

 

Trevelyan laughed, the sound a pathetic echo of what it usually was. “I’ll be sure to write Corypheus a thank you note, then.” Leliana rolled her eyes but felt the corners of her mouth pull up on their own accord.

 

They took a few cautious steps that proved rather unimpressive, Trevelyan huffing out a curse when she tripped over her own feet. At this glacial pace, the rogue would probably faint before they made it halfway back to her tent.

 

With a deft move, Leliana scooped Trevelyan into her arms, which evidently startled the other woman because she let out a sound curiously similar to the squeal of a mabari who’d had its tail stepped on.

 

“You’re easier to carry than to drag,” Leliana said somewhat drily in explanation.

 

“Thank you,” Trevelyan said softly, sounding half-asleep already.  “Sorry,” her mumbles started becoming almost incoherent, “to … bother.”

 

As Leliana made her way to the tent with careful steps, Trevelyan’s breathing slowed and evened out, and by the time they entered the tent, the woman was asleep.

 

“Maker, what a fool,” Leliana said without venom, looking down at Trevelyan’s slumbering face. _You’re…different,_ Trevelyan’s words resonated in her mind. What a fool, Leliana thought, almost with endearment, then shaking her head at herself.

 

Mother Giselle was inside the tent, tending to a soldier who had a severe case of frostbite from having lent his fur-lined helmet to a villager. She looked up and bowed her head in greeting as Leliana came in, her expression kindly. If she was surprised by Trevelyan’s condition, she didn’t show it.

 

Leliana put Trevelyan in the nearest bedroll – she was deadweight in her arms and Leliana knew the limits to her own strength. The rogue was solidly asleep, though she didn’t seem to be resting peacefully, a frown tugging at her lips.

 

“The body cannot take stresses like this,” Mother Giselle said from across the tent, rising to fetch a blanket. “Even one touched with magic such as the Herald’s. But, whether by ordained miracle or sheer luck, she will make a full recovery.”

 

Leliana stood aside as the Chantry woman came to tend to her newest patient, watching as she pressed a finger to Trevelyan’s neck to check her pulse. “She will need to be monitored, to be safe.”

 

Mother Giselle nodded. “And so she will be.” She shot Leliana a sympathetic look. “You should rest, Sister Nightingale. I know it is difficult to do so while worrying about friends, but it would not do to wear yourself ragged.”

 

Leliana shook her head, eyes remaining on the Herald. “There is too much to be done.” Like find a new base of operations for the Inquisition – or even finding out where they were now.

 

Mother Giselle stood, crossing her arms and leveling the spymaster with a firm stare. “And it will be done. Tomorrow is a new day, a day of hope. But first we must let this day come to a close.”

 

Leliana was silent, considering the other woman’s words. Sleep would elude her, she was sure. She turned her gaze to the campfire, where Cullen, Cassandra, and Josephine were still gathered. They had given up their arguing for moody silence instead, the firelight illuminating their weary expressions. Perhaps rest was a good idea after all.

 

She bid Mother Giselle goodnight, hesitating at Trevelyan’s side and noting as she turned fitfully in her sleep. She returned at last to the campfire.

 

Josephine looked up on her arrival, shooting her a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. For a few moments, the only sound was the crackling of the fire, before Cullen cleared his throat.

 

“Were you…carrying the Herald?” the commander asked, confused, scratching his stubble, flicking his gaze between the redhead and the tent she’d just walked out of.

 

“She’s not hurt, is she?” Josephine chimed in, worried.

 

Leliana wasn’t sure how to answer that question; as Trevelyan had so eloquently put it (and with only a _touch_ of exaggeration), a mountain did fall on her. “It’s nothing rest will not cure.” Catching her friend’s pointed look, she added indignantly, “Don’t look at me like that, Josie – I didn’t do anything!”


	10. 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Becoming the Inquisitor and beginning anew at Skyhold. Feelings and fluff.

* * *

Skyhold was magnificent, even in its state of disrepair. Trevelyan couldn’t help but marvel at it. Such impressive architecture, tucked away in the security of the Frostbacks, a forgotten sanctuary. As Inquisitor, she vowed to see it restored to its proper glory.

 

Inquisitor. The title still sounded foreign to Trevelyan’s ears, and every time someone addressed her as such she had to resist her natural instinct to look over her shoulder before remembering that they meant her.

 

She had been blindsided by the offer of the title, though in hindsight she knew she shouldn’t have been. Walking up the steps to Skyhold’s castle with Cassandra, hearing her say that the Inquisition needed a leader, it all felt like abstract strategy. But then she’d seen Leliana holding a ceremonial sword, the redhead watching her with knowing eyes, and it clicked into place.

 

“Me?” she’d said, foolishly, voice rising an octave.

 

Cassandra had seemed amused, corners of her lips turning up. “Yes, you,” she drawled, clapping her friend on the shoulder, causing the rogue to take a few stumbling steps towards the spymaster.

 

Trevelyan looked to Leliana, to the ornate sword in her hands, mind spinning. “I…” _I am no leader,_ she thought. Cullen was a leader, Cassandra was a leader. She was – she was just a fighter, and luckily enough up until this point, a survivor.

 

Leliana seemed to read her mind, or at least the doubt that was plastered across her face. “You have never been just an ordinary soldier, not to them,” she said lowly, nodding to the crowd that was beginning to form below. “At first they – we – needed your mark. Now we need _you_ ,” she said, gaze connecting with Trevelyan’s own.

 

Trevelyan cast her eyes to those gathered below. Soldiers, agents, stablehands, commoners; all watching her, anxious, waiting. They’d all been through hell and back, they’d all bled and lost, and now there was a palpable sense of hope in their eyes. Trevelyan nodded, steeling herself. If this was what they needed, she wouldn’t dream of refusing them.

 

She grabbed the sword, holding it to her. It was deceptively light for its enormous size, hollow on the inside, all show. “The Inquisition will stand for what is right, for all of us. Together, we will fight for a better world.”

 

Leliana smiled. “I would expect no less,” she said, almost to herself.

 

Cassandra came forward and nodded at her. “Wherever you lead us.”

 

And like that she’d become the Inquisitor. She had been drawn into a flurry of activity since then, planning their next steps, overseeing rebuilding of Skyhold, welcoming newcomers and visiting nobles, approving missions. It was time-consuming and tiring, but it left her feeling fulfilled, with a new sense of purpose, and she could tell the feeling was infectious. On the journey, everyone had been morose and morale had barely been limping along, but now people were smiling, whistling, laughing. The other day she even caught Cassandra reading one of Varric’s books, and despite the warrior’s embarrassment and Trevelyan’s teasing, the light-hearted mood hadn’t been dampened. In her darker moments, Trevelyan thought the feeling was almost manic, a sheer veil over grief and guilt at the fall of Haven, but she was determined to see it last as long as it could.

 

In all the commotion, there was only one person she hadn’t seen much of, and that was Leliana. Ever since their fight, Trevelyan felt uncertain whenever she was near the other woman (was she still angry? annoyed? what was she thinking?). She knew Leliana had more pressing matters to devote her attention to than Trevelyan, and likely had even less free time than she did, but still she felt the spymaster’s absence keenly. They hadn’t spoken one-on-one since…Trevelyan thought back. It had been since their argument. Maker, that felt like ages ago.

 

“You could go up there, you know,” Dorian remarked after the fifth time she’d glanced at the stairs to the rookery. “She doesn’t bite. Probably. Unlike those filthy birds of hers.”

 

Trevelyan was leaning her back on the stone railing across from where the Tevinter mage was kneeling, scouring a bookcase for a specific book that he couldn’t seem to find.

 

“I shouldn’t disturb her.” Should she? The spymaster did work herself too hard, maybe a break would do her well. Then again, if she was still annoyed, that “break” might involve breaking something of Trevelyan’s…The brunette rubbed the back of her neck, thoughts turning in circles.

 

Dorian stood up, empty handed, and brushed the dust from his robe. He fixed Trevelyan with an accusing stare. “You, my friend, are afraid.”

 

“I’m not afraid,” she protested. Dorian gave her a withering look. “Alright, so maybe I am a bit. But …” And there was the rub. She couldn’t really explain why she was afraid. Because the redhead could kick her ass in at least a dozen ways? Trevelyan was fairly sure she wouldn’t, and if she did then Trevelyan trusted her judgement enough to know she deserved it. Maybe ‘afraid’ was too strong a word; nervous was closer, but that wasn’t any easier to explain.

 

“A very convincing argument you put forth!” Dorian walked over to her, patting her on the shoulder. “Now go on.” He pushed her, gently but with surprising strength for a mage, towards the steps. Amusement twinkled in his eyes, and underneath it, understanding. Trevelyan wanted to groan. If there was one thing she definitely didn’t want to get out, it was her infatuation with the spymaster. How awkward that would make her advisor meetings, Trevelyan cringed internally at the thought.

 

She glanced up the stairs, hesitating, before nodding and beginning her ascent. Dorian watched her go, mustache twitching as he tried to hold back a grin.

 

When she got to the top step, she paused, taking in the area around her. This was the first time she’d been to the rookery. It was a simple and utilitarian set up: a desk and a writing table, cages both with and without ravens in them, a few agents sitting on benches and whispering furtively among themselves. Despite the few windows and added torchlight, light was in short supply, and the room was cast in shadow.

 

Cullen was speaking with Leliana, and as she neared the pair she caught the tail-end of their conversation.

 

“I’m sorry,” Leliana said, her face stoic but her voice thick with regret.

 

Cullen nodded, lowering his eyes. “So am I,” he said softly, before turning and walking away.

 

Trevelyan took his spot, noticing the small scroll clutched in the spymaster’s hand.

 

Leliana looked down at it as well, her grip on the scroll tightening. “The names of those we lost at Haven,” she supplied. With the commander gone, her expression crumpled, and she braced her arms on the desk and leaned on it, staring down at the wood without really seeing it. Trevelyan felt a pang in her chest at the sight, a feeling that overrode her nervousness.

 

"You must blame me for this.” Leliana didn’t look up as she said it, but Trevelyan could hear the self-loathing in her voice. Had she been blaming herself this entire time? If Trevelyan had known that, she would’ve stopped by the second she’d had a chance to put a stop to that nonsense.

 

She came to stand beside the redhead, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s not your fault. Put the blame with Corypheus, where it’s due.”

 

Leliana looked up at her, blue eyes swirling with conflicting emotions. Then she slipped from Trevelyan’s grip, going to stand by a nearby window. “I keep wondering if I could’ve done something _different_.” She shook her head. “When the first of my lookouts went missing, I pulled the rest back, awaiting more information. If they’d stayed in the field…” Her voice hardened, and Trevelyan watched her hands clench into fists.

 

“Then they would’ve died, and Haven would’ve been taken anyway,” Trevelyan said with certainty, knowing Corypheus was a force they wouldn’t have been prepared to deal with no matter what they could’ve done differently. “You care for your people. That’s a good thing.”

 

Leliana crossed her arms, turning back to the other woman. “Is it? My people know their duty, they know the risks. They understand that the Inquisition may call upon them to give their lives,” she said fiercely, frowning.

 

Trevelyan felt a flare of frustration at this old argument rearing its ugly head again. “Your people –our people– aren’t just tools to be used and discarded. Every single member of the Inquisition is worth more than that.” She took an earnest step forward. “Your instincts were right, their lives matter.” She saw Leliana’s brows furrow and pressed on. “They mean a great deal – you must know that, or else those names wouldn’t hurt as much as they do.” She nodded at the scroll.

 

The spymaster was silent a moment, closing her eyes and bringing a hand up to massage her temples. Her face had become carefully expressionless, so Trevelyan could only guess at what she was thinking. “Can we really afford such sentimentality right now?” The question wasn’t argumentative, it was almost plaintive. Trevelyan was sympathetic – sentimentality, caring, was heart-wrenching, it hurt; it would be easier, simpler, to be emotionless and duty-bound.

 

“Without sentimentality, we’d be no better than Corypheus and his demons and Venatori.” She walked up to the window, looking out the glass on all the people milling in the courtyard below. The next words she spoke were warm with conviction. “The Inquisition isn’t just fighting against something. It’s fighting _for_ something; for hope, for a more promising future.” She glanced at Leliana with a small smile. “You made that happen, you know. We wouldn’t be where we are without you.”

 

Leliana scoffed, turning away. “And look where we are now, fleeing into the mountains with our tail tucked between our legs. A fine job I’ve done, no?” She moved to walk away.

 

“Stop,” Trevelyan said, more forcefully than she’d intended, darting a hand out and catching the spymaster’s wrist, preventing her from leaving. “With all that’s happened, with everything that’s working against the Inquisition, the last thing you need is to turn against yourself.” Her voice was low, pleading. “You have to stop being your own worst enemy, Leliana. Please.”

 

They stared at each other. At some point, Trevelyan had taken the redhead’s hand (When? She didn’t remember; it felt so natural.) and held it between them like a lifeline. Though there wasn’t that much space between them, really – another step or two and she’d be treading on the spymaster’s toes. It was then that she noticed Leliana was a few inches taller than her, a fact that seemed important somehow.

 

Leliana’s frown softened into an almost-smile, the unhappy crease between her brows easing. “You-”

 

Before she could continue, a throat cleared behind them. “Ah, Sister Nightingale, the report you requested. Is…this a bad time?” The agent fidgeted, eyes flitting between the two women uncertainly.

 

Trevelyan felt herself flush, and she ducked her head to hide it. “Duty calls,” she said, attempting a light-hearted tone, her heart beating quick and erratic in her chest. She dropped the spymaster’s hand and stood aside.

 

In an instant, Leliana’s professional demeanor fell into place, and she strode forward. Trevelyan waited a moment, watching her address the rather twitchy agent, noticing that the spymaster had finally set the scroll she’d been holding aside. Trevelyan hoped that she’d take their conversation to heart, and with that thought and a final glance at the redhead, she took her leave.

 

And though she wasn’t aware of it, Leliana’s eyes followed her the entire time.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! If you're reading this, this chapter is dedicated to you - I appreciate you all :) This chapter was a lot of fun to write, so hopefully it'll be fun to read too.

            Trevelyan had been uncharacteristically bored. Her party had just arrived back to Skyhold the day before, and she had found herself – of all things – craving a book to read. She supposed it was because Cassandra had been glued to Varric’s newest installation of _Swords & Shields_ every night of the two weeks they’d been at Crestwood. One night around the campfire, Sera had even started doing impersonations of the Seeker battling a bear and the warrior hadn’t so much as blinked, her gaze remaining on the pages before her in rapt attention. Trevelyan figured the series must be good.

            Which was why, on their return to Skyhold, she’d wrangled herself a copy of the first volume and sought out a decent reading spot. After seeing the cover, she decided an out of the way spot would probably be best, so she opted for the sunlit roof of the tavern, outside Sera’s room (the elf had stuck around long enough to let her in her room and make a wisecrack about the book before running off to do Maker-knew-what). She’d been lying on her back on the roof for a good half hour or more, and she hadn’t made it far at all.

            It was horrible. “Is this really what women go for?” she wondered aloud, rolling her eyes as she turned the page – to an illustration. She held it at arm’s length, turning the book slightly to get a better angle. “Maker, that just looks painful.” Granted, she wasn’t much versed in _swords_ , but if that was what it was like, she was glad she had no inclination for them.

            A forceful voice startled her out of her musings. “Inquisitor!” Cassandra was standing below, hands on her hips, looking accusingly up at her. “What do you think you’re doing up there?” Trevelyan granted it was an odd spot to be, so she supposed the Seeker’s suspicion was warranted.

            “Reading,” Trevelyan responded, though she thought that probably was an overstatement given the material.

            Cassandra spluttered when Trevelyan showed her the cover of the book. “You are the Inquisitor, y-you should not…give that here!”

            “Gladly,” Trevelyan muttered, sitting up and tossing down the book, which the warrior deftly caught, scowling.

            “You – ugh!” With a last dark look at the Inquisitor, Cassandra stomped off, likely to hide the book from prying eyes, Trevelyan guessed. Good.

            Trevelyan stood up, stretching, letting her gaze drift over the yard below. Now devoid of entertainment, she wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself. A stroll, perhaps? The sunlight felt so pleasant, she was loathe to return indoors.

            She exited via the knotted rope ladder that Sera had discretely attached to the side of the roof, no doubt for quick getaways for whatever pranks she planned to pull. Scout Harding, standing not too far off, quirked a brow at her descent, but merely nodded in a passing greeting, for which Trevelyan was grateful.

            The garden was occupied, Trevelyan found when she entered. Leliana and Josephine were seated at the table near the garden’s center, talking over a quaint-looking teapot. Trevelyan tried to give them their privacy, but Josephine spotted her and waved her over.

            “Sorry for interrupting,” Trevelyan said sincerely, knowing that their free time was sparse and thus precious.

            “Nonsense,” Josephine said, waving her teacup-free hand. “We were just discussing Halamshiral. You should join us.” She nodded at an empty seat between them.

            Trevelyan mentally shook her head as she crossed over to the chair. Of course they hadn’t just been drinking tea and chatting, though at least if they were working they seemed relaxed. She sat, and thanked the ambassador when she was given her own steaming cup of tea. “So are we closer to securing an invitation?” she questioned, bringing the cup to her lips and gently blowing on the amber liquid before taking a sip. Delicious.

            Josephine nodded, leaning back in her chair. “Fortunately, yes. We have a few possible channels provided by nobles sympathetic to the Inquisition’s cause.” She shot Leliana a look, then added, “And others by nobles _persuaded_ to offer aid.”

            Leliana took a drink from her own cup, but Trevelyan could tell she was hiding a smirk behind its rim. She caught Trevelyan’s gaze and shot her a conspiratorial wink.

            “So where does that leave us?” Trevelyan asked, biting back a smile and turning her attention back to the ambassador.

            Josephine traced a finger over the rim of her cup, eyes drifting from the Inquisitor to the Spymaster, brows pulling together in thought. “The more influence and pull we can wield, the stronger our position will become, of course.” She leaned forward, putting her hands on the table and drawing them together. “In the meantime, it would be prudent to prepare.”

            Trevelyan’s brows rose questioningly at the statement. Halamshiral was, at its heart, a ball, and hadn’t they all been to at least a few of those before? Granted, ever since she’d come of age and been able to have her own decisions respected, she’d avoided balls like the plague. And granted, the balls she had actually attended she’d typically lurked around the edges of the crowd, dancing only when she’d been cornered into doing so. Still. “Prepare?”

            “The Winter Palace embodies the heart of the Game. We must all be fluent in our roles and how best to play our parts. The difference between an ally and a foe lies in a single word, a single gesture.” Leliana spoke fervently, her eyes narrowing. She frowned, turning to Trevelyan. “As the Inquisitor, your every action will be under intense scrutiny.”

            “Sounds like a fun game,” Trevelyan said, trying and failing to hide a smile at her own joke. Leliana rolled her eyes, though to Josephine’s surprise she offered no rebuke.

            “It is a game in name only,” Josephine said, staring worriedly down into her tea. It was flippant comments like that that, if the Inquisitor wasn’t careful, could get her into trouble. Several of Thedas’ most powerful would be at the Winter Palace, all jockeying for influence, and with her easy smile and affable nature the Inquisitor would be a natural target. To say Josephine was concerned was an understatement. “Though you will not be engaged in combat” – Maker, Josephine hoped not, at least – “make no mistake, you will be in danger.”

            “As long as I don’t have to dance,” Trevelyan said, taking a hearty sip of her tea. Delicious – it was a black tea with undertones of strawberry and honey, and a hint of mint that gave it a slightly sharp aftertaste. When she put the cup down, she noticed both women staring at her incredulously. “What?”

            Josephine hesitated, trying to come up with a diplomatic way to phrase her response, but the spymaster had no such qualms.

            “Of course you will have to dance – it is a _ball_ , is it not?” There was a hint of exasperation tinging the redhead’s words.

            “But I’m going as, essentially, a bodyguard for the Empress. How can I protect her if I’m twirling around on the dance floor?” The whole thing seemed rather absurd to Trevelyan. She was a demon-killer, a Venatori-hunter – she had a glowing hand, for Andraste’s sake. Which one of those descriptors screamed belle of the ball?

            “You are not going as a ‘bodyguard,’ you’re going as a representative of the Inquisition. We cannot raise suspicions by having you stand out in any way, least of all dogging Empress Celene’s every step.” Josephine said, sharing a look with Leliana. Perhaps this was going to be more difficult than they’d expected.

            Trevelyan crossed her arms, a sinking feeling in her stomach. “So I’m…just a guest, there to regale in the palace’s splendor and partake in all the evening’s activities.” And that would of course involve dancing, among other horrors. Maker, why dancing? Why couldn’t Orlesians do something interesting, like host a Grand Tourney? Trevelyan would even prefer Ostwick’s traditional cheese races.

            “Now she gets it.” Leliana’s eyes were shining and she had the faintest of smirks. Trevelyan sighed. At least someone was enjoying the prospect of the impending festivities, even if it was at her own expense. And honestly, it was cute, especially considering how cool and collected the spymaster had to be in her work. Trevelyan felt a blush creep across her cheeks at the thought.

            “You will, of course, need to be well-versed in Orlesian manners in order to navigate the Game.” Anything less and the Court would tear her apart, Josephine knew, but stopped herself from saying aloud as the Inquisitor’s expression was becoming glummer by the second.

            “So that means-” Trevelyan was almost afraid to continue the sentence.

            “Dancing. Etiquette. And fashion,” Leliana said, eyes trailing up and down the brunette’s outfit, brow furrowing in contemplation. Trevelyan felt her blush return in full force as the spymaster’s eyes lingered.

            “Speaking of fashion, I don’t suppose this is fancy enough to wear,” Trevelyan said, slightly hopeful, waving down at her Inquisitor’s garb (and with any luck turning attention away from her crimson cheeks). It had flashy buttons (Orlesians loved shiny things, didn’t they?), even if it did have a vaguely pajama-esce look.

            “No,” Josephine said flatly, point-blank. She tried her best not to register the brunette’s slight pout.

            “Oh, but we will find you a fitting outfit.” Leliana grinned, and Trevelyan gulped, feeling suddenly nervous.

            “Alright, but I have to wear pants.” Trevelyan shuddered at the thought of wearing a dress, remembering how constraining they felt in her teenage years, and all the poking and prodding involved in putting them on. She shook her head. “Pants are absolutely non-negotiable.”

            Leliana’s smirk turned positively evil, and she put her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her palm, fixing Trevelyan with an unwavering look. “Oh, you would be surprised just how _negotiable_ they can be, with the right… _persuasion_.”

            Josephine’s brows leaped practically to her hairline, her gaze flicking between the two other women, a suspicion forming in her mind. She knew her friend was a merciless tease, but was this simply teasing? Josephine wasn’t sure. The way her friend’s eyes were shining…

            A throat cleared behind them. Cullen stood there, a hand behind his head tousling his hair uncertainly. By his slightly embarrassed expression, Josephine would guess he’d gotten there just in time to hear the last part of their conversation.

            “Cullen!” Trevelyan all but jumped up, her face burning scarlet.

            Cullen eyes widened in surprise. “I’m late, I apologize-” He started, but the Inquisitor cut him off.

            “No, I’m sorry to keep you waiting!” Trevelyan’s voice was pitched higher than normal. “I completely forgot!”

            “What-?” Cullen’s brows furrowed in confusion, his brown eyes traveling from the flustered woman in front of him to his seated fellow advisors. “But-”

            Trevelyan threw an arm around the Commander’s shoulders, her free hand coming up to hold his bicep in a vice-like grip. She leaned into him slightly, plastering a friendly grin on her face and hissing out from behind it, “Go with it.”

            He nodded almost imperceptibly to show he understood, though to Trevelyan’s chagrin the confused look didn’t leave his face.

            She turned back to the others. “I’d agreed to train with the Commander here. Sorry to cut our conversation short. I’ll, uh…keep what you said in mind.” Her gaze returned to Leliana long enough to see that she’d brought a hand to her mouth and her eyes were sparkling with mirth. She nodded apologetically to Josephine, who looked positively bewildered, and then she dragged Cullen away as quickly as she could. Maker, she was radiating heat – it felt like a dragon had eaten her.

            “Er, you know I was there to meet-” Cullen gestured behind them.

            Trevelyan shot him an unhappy, exasperated look. “Everyone knows, Cullen. Just let me have this.”

            The ambassador and spymaster watched the pair depart in silence, waiting until they escaped from view.

            “That was fun,” Leliana said merrily, chuckling. If she was disappointed her quarry had left, she didn’t show it, though her gaze occasionally wandered in the direction the rogue had left.

            Josephine tutted, trying to hide the smile that was tugging at her lips. “Poor Trevelyan.” She took a sip of her tea and was disappointed to find that it had gone cold. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face for long, however. “Maker, what a brilliant shade of red.”

            The air in the garden filled with their laughter.


	12. 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, this chapter got away from me. It was supposed to be a short, cute lil scene and somehow it turned into so many pages of, yeah, cuteness, but also feelings. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! Sorry for the slight delay - one word: midterms. Ugh.

            Josephine was rather pleased with herself. In the midst of her duties as the Inquisition’s ambassador, of her duties to her family, she took on an additional responsibility, this time to her friends: potential matchmaker. Or at least, she was attempting to – it was difficult when one half of the match was absent.

            “Alright, now put your left hand up to meet your partner’s, and circle to the right two steps, then switch hands and move to the left two steps,” Josephine instructed, watching as the Inquisitor disjointedly fulfilled the actions. “It should be a fluid movement, one action leading into the next.”

            Josephine and Trevelyan were in the ambassador’s office, having pushed the furniture out of the way to create a more suitable dance space. Trevelyan was standing in the center, wearing one of the formal outfits that had been presented to her: a simple black coat adorned with silver accents and a silver sash, black form-fitting pants, and a pair of tall leather boots. Josephine was situated off to the side, instructing the rogue through one of Orlais’ popular dances. She’d started out as Trevelyan’s dance partner, but had quickly realized that if she wanted to critique the other woman’s form, it would be easier to do so from the sidelines.

            And Maker, would she need to. They’d barely scratched the surface of the dance and Trevelyan was already struggling. Her movements were rigid and stilted, likely the result of nerves. Josephine sympathized, but if the other woman was nervous now, the feeling would only increase tenfold on the night of the actual event.

            “I feel absurd,” Trevelyan complained, repeating the dance steps and looking every bit as awkward as she felt.

            “Of course you do. It wouldn’t be Orlesian if it didn’t look ridiculous,” Dorian chimed in from where he was standing next to the fireplace, watching his friend with no small amount of amusement. When she’d let slip that she was learning to dance, he absolutely insisted on tagging along. For moral support, of course, entertainment only being a bonus.

            Trevelyan rolled her eyes at the mage. “You could join me, you know.” Despite the amicable way it was spoken, it sounded like a threat.

            “I have never danced an Orlesian step in my life, and I don’t care to mar my perfect record, thank you very much,” Dorian said in a mock-disdainful tone, wagging a finger at her.

            “Insufferable snob.” Trevelyan stuck both her arms out, taking a few overly dramatic strides in an imitation of the dance’s first steps.

            “You wound me, oh Herald of grace.” Dorian put a hand over his heart, his mustache twitching as he tried to hold back a grin.

            Trevelyan laughed and pulled her right arm across her chest, sweeping into a bow just as the dance called for. At least a bow she could execute smoothly. “So what’s the next step, Ambassador?” She asked, turning to Josephine just in time to see the other woman glancing at the door to her office.

            “Now you would embrace your partner and lead them in a waltz.”

            “Hm. I can’t waltz alone – one of you is going to have to cease being a wallflower and join me.” When both the ambassador and the mage hesitated, she shrugged and started practicing the dance from the beginning. “A lesser woman might be offended by your lack of enthusiasm.”

            Dorian was about to reply with something no doubt cheeky when the door from the main hall opened.

            “Josie, I got your-” Leliana stepped in, arching a brow at the scene before her. “Well this is…unexpected.”

            “Hold on, I thought you said you locked the door,” Trevelyan protested, halting mid-step and lowering her arms to her sides. “We _agreed_.”

            Josephine ignored the outburst. “Ah, Leliana, perfect timing. The Inquisitor needs a dance partner.” _Finally_ , the ambassador thought, though she fought to keep the relief and excitement from her voice.

            Leliana’s gaze trailed from the ambassador to Dorian and back. “This is why you sent for me?” she asked incredulously, crossing her arms, though she obligingly came to stand by Josephine’s side.

            Dorian, feeling a need to defend himself for his inaction, piped up. “I, for one, don’t fancy having my feet stepped on. I bruise so easily.”

            “Hey-” Trevelyan frowned, though she couldn’t deny the distinct possibility of treading on her dance partner’s feet (and if it were Dorian, perhaps stomp on them for good measure).

            “Yes, I’m sure you are such a delicate flower,” Leliana drawled.

            Dorian smirked, gesturing to her with his arm. “Aha! Someone gets it. I am an exquisite orchid that requires the utmost gentleness and lavish care.”

            “Yes, well, be that as it may,” Josephine interrupted in attempt to redirect the conversation, resisting the powerful urge to roll her eyes. “You are our resident expert on Orlais, and I thought to draw upon your expertise. You know as well as I do that it will be critical to navigating Halamshiral.” For an off-the-cuff answer, Josephine felt rather satisfied with it.

            Leliana nodded, turning her attention to Trevelyan, who’d crossed her arms over her chest and was watching both advisors with a hesitant expression. “Let’s see your outfit, first,” the spymaster said, walking over and tapping the brunette’s elbow to get her to uncross her arms.

            Trevelyan lowered her arms, blushing as the redhead looked her up and down appraisingly, obediently turning when she was motioned to do so. When she was done, she raised a brow. “Well?”

            Leliana stepped closer, with a light touch smoothing out the silver sash that Trevelyan had thrown on rather haphazardly. Trevelyan felt her breath catch at the closeness and sudden contact, and looked up at the spymaster, who was focused on the task at hand.

            “It’s not a dress,” Leliana said when she was done, sounding faintly disappointed. Her blue eyes flicked down to meet Trevelyan’s. “It’s unconventional, but it suits you.” Leliana paused, her hands coming up to fiddle with Trevelyan’s shoulder pads, continuing in a lower tone, “You look dashing.” She smiled, holding Trevelyan’s gaze, and the moment passed between them like a shared secret.

            Trevelyan blushed, looking down, unable to keep a grin from spreading across her face. “Dashing, huh? Maybe we should cut my hair, to complete the effect. Cullen and I can be twins.”

            Leliana’s expression grew scandalized, and she put her hands on her hips. “What? No! If you want it short, we can put it up.” She cast a critical glance over the brunette’s wavy light brown hair that fell a few inches past shoulder-length. “Cut it! What a waste of perfectly good hair!”

            Trevelyan chuckled. “I was joking.” She doubted Cullen would be too keen on being her twin, anyway.

            Leliana frowned, taking a step back. “You had me worried for a moment.”

            Meanwhile, Dorian was watching, thoughtfully tapping a finger to his chin, a soft smirk in place. Josephine cleared her throat quietly, capturing his attention, and she fixed him with a meaningful look, nodding towards the door. He pointed at his chest and mouthed _Me?_ , to which Josephine nodded again. He gave a devilish grin and slowly stood upright, dusting off his robes, then stretching, his glacial pace causing Josephine to grit her teeth. Dorian was fairly certain the pair had completely forgotten their presence, but if the Ambassador wished him gone, he would leave. On his own terms, of course.

            “Well, I hate to cut out of a dance, but I must go,” Dorian announced, choosing his last words deliberately. He waggled his fingers in a wave. “Ta ta, and Inquisitor – do try to have fun. I’m told enthusiasm often makes up for lack of expertise.” With that, he practically pranced out of the room.

            Leliana chuckled, but Trevelyan apparently didn’t get the double entendre because she simply shook her head. Even Josephine had to smile at his dramatics, trying as they were as she attempted to carefully set her plan in motion.

            “Now, what exactly did you call me here for?” Leliana asked, turning to Josephine.

            Trevelyan muttered something under her breath that sounded like _Good question_ , but the ambassador tactfully chose to ignore it. “We’d just barely gotten to the waltz.”

            Leliana arched a brow. “And you’ve forgotten the step, I suppose.”

            Trust her friend to be ever suspicious. Josephine sighed. “ _And_ I’ve got a meeting with a Fereldan merchant about securing certain supplies for Skyhold’s reconstruction, strictly off the books. I doubt he would appreciate talking business over the two-step.” That much was true, though the merchant had been at Skyhold for a few days now and Josephine could speak with him at any moment she wished, but Leliana didn’t need to know that.

            Trevelyan laughed at the mental image of Josephine discussing the price of stone while waltzing. “You never know. Fereldans do tend to have an odd sense of humor, but I suspect you’re right.”

            “Very well,” Leliana said with an expression Josephine wasn’t quite able to put her finger on. “I’d hate to keep you from your duties.” The line was said in a neutral way, so Josephine wasn’t sure if it was a reproach for pulling the spymaster from her own work, or if she was being sincere. She’d assume the latter.

            Josephine bowed her head. “Thank you, Leliana. I will be back as soon as I am finished.” She dipped her head to them both, and took her leave, on her way out releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

            With the ambassador’s absence, Trevelyan couldn’t help but feel awkward, though she tried to shake it off. “If you have other things to do-”

            Leliana cut her off. “You’re the Inquisitor, Trevelyan. I will always have time for you.” Her tone was slightly exasperated, but her eyes shone with a soft fondness. “Now,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “Would you like me to lead or to follow? I can do both.”

            Trevelyan smiled. “I can do neither, we even each other out.” She considered it for a second, then decided, “Lead. I’ll learn by example.”

            Leliana nodded and stepped closer. Trevelyan held out her left hand out at shoulder height away from her body, and Leliana took it with her right, placing her left hand on Trevelyan’s hip. Feeling her throat go dry at the contact, Trevelyan mimicked the move, putting her right hand on the spymaster’s hip atop her chain-link armor. Her heart beat a rapid staccato rhythm in her chest.

            “I assume you’ve done this before,” Leliana said, starting with slow steps that Trevelyan followed slightly hesitantly.

            “Yes,” Trevelyan said, biting her lip and looking down at their feet as a guide. She knew it was a cheat she wouldn’t be able to use at the Winter Palace, but hopefully by then she wouldn’t need to. “It’s been years, though.”

            They took a few steps in silence, Trevelyan watching her feet while Leliana watched Trevelyan. The redhead wasn’t sure she’d ever seen the rogue so studiously focused outside the war room, and Leliana’s eyes flicked down to the lip Trevelyan was still biting. She felt a sudden surge of intense affection for the younger woman, her leader that could slay a demon without a second thought but was nervous about _dancing_ , of all things. She couldn’t suppress a smile at the thought, and she led them in a twirl to hide it.

            “Maker!” Trevelyan said, having to take a couple out-of-place steps to keep up. She huffed, sending Leliana an apprehensive look. “This is why I was never any good at dancing, I never knew what I was meant to do. It’s unpredictable, arbitrary.”

            “On the contrary,” Leliana replied, holding out her arm and guiding Trevelyan through a spin. “A proper dance is strategic, calculated, with a natural give and take based on your partner.” She put her hand back on the brunette’s hip and they resumed the waltz. “It’s a bit like chess.”

            The comparison sounded absurd to Trevelyan, though she supposed she wasn’t surprised that the spymaster viewed it as such, being a former Orlesian bard and all. “Yes, but,” she said, finally feeling like she was settled enough in the rhythm to look up from her feet. “In chess you get to sit.”

            Leliana rolled her eyes, finishing their set of steps and dipping Trevelyan as low as she dared, putting her arm around the younger woman’s waist for support.

            Trevelyan yelped, honey-brown eyes widening, her grip on Leliana tightening reflexively. Leliana laughed, grinning devilishly down at the woman in her arms. The emotion she’d felt before, the… _affection_ , swelled in her chest.

            “I thought you were going to drop me!” Trevelyan said, breathless, flushing, staring up at Leliana, trying to will her heartbeat to return to normal. The spymaster’s proximity didn’t help matters, either, nor the way the other woman was looking at her.

            “I’d never!” Leliana said teasingly, thoroughly relishing the Inquisitor’s startled expression, thinking she rather liked being able to bring a blush to the other woman’s cheeks – and, for that matter, rather liked dancing with her (though she tried not to think too deeply about what that might mean). How long had it been since Leliana had last danced? Since she’d led, for that matter? It felt like ages. She’d forgotten how much she’d enjoyed it. Leliana righted them, sliding her hands back into place. “I was simply keeping you on your toes.”

            Trevelyan huffed. “You’re succeeding, though I’m not sure it’s really a challenge.” Leliana had sped up their pace, though it was still a touch slower than the true tempo. “I can barely keep up with you.”

            “I’ve had a lot of practice,” Leliana said, and at Trevelyan’s look in askance she continued. “As a bard, I frequently employed means beyond combat to…secure information. Being a player of the Game often meant attending balls and charming my target. Dancing was one means to that end.”

            Trevelyan wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or intimidated. She frowned. “I forgot about the Game.” She hesitated, then added (trying to keep the hopefulness out of her voice), “Cassandra told me that it was frivolous and not to worry about it.”

            Leliana grit her teeth, though she wasn’t surprised the Seeker had made the dismissing comment – she was straightforward to a fault. “One ignores the Game at their own peril,” she replied. “I know it may seem pompous and aggrandizing-” Trevelyan murmured in agreement, “but it is dangerous. Schemes are plotted, lives are taken, and murderers roam in plain sight, hiding behind masks.” She felt her throat tighten at the thought. “These people would do anything for their own gain, including putting a knife in your back without a second thought. Especially _you_ – as the leader of the Inquisition, you will be a curiosity and a target.” Leliana scowled. Trevelyan was capable of defending herself in direct combat, she knew, but the style of “combat” in the Game was new territory, and the thought of the Inquisitor being vulnerable provoked a surge of protectiveness in the spymaster.

            Trevelyan halted her steps, growing concerned, a crease forming between her brows. “I suppose I didn’t realize how dire the stakes are.” She shook her head, staring down at the ground in thought, taking her hand from Leliana’s hip and lowering her other one, though not releasing the spymaster’s hand. “Politics and courtly intrigue have never been my strong suits.” She smiled ruefully. “I’m not used to having to see an enemy in everyone. I suppose that’s naïve, considering the state of Thedas.”

            “On the contrary,” Leliana said, squeezing Trevelyan’s hand reassuringly. “That trust in others has built the Inquisition into what it is today. It is not naïve to have faith, Trevelyan. It is a source of strength.” Leliana knew she never would have said the same words a few months ago – she wouldn’t have believed them – but now she could feel the truth of them in her bones.

            Trevelyan was quiet a moment, her gaze still cast at the floor so Leliana couldn’t see her expression. The moment grew, became a long pause, the silence stretching out and filling the room. It felt like a distance between them, though they were still connected.

            Finally, in a small voice, Trevelyan admitted, “I…don’t feel strong, to be honest. I feel nervous. Scared,” she corrected with a shake of her head. “Of a damn ball, of all things. So much is hanging in the balance – the fate of the Empress, of the Empire. I’d rather face down Corypheus and his dragon any day.” Just thinking about the stakes involved caused her stomach to lurch.

            “When Corypheus attacked us at Haven,” Leliana started, choosing her words deliberately so as to leave past feelings buried, “he took us by surprise. This time, we will prepared. And though the stakes are high, know that you won’t be alone. Not this time.” She spoke sincerely, watching the woman standing before her carefully. No, never again would she allow Trevelyan to charge into a threat alone.

            Trevelyan looked up at that, with a grateful smile and watery eyes. Leliana felt a tug in her chest looking into those eyes.

            “Thank you,” Trevelyan said, then laughed embarrassedly as a tear rolled down her cheek.

            Before she truly realized what she was doing, Leliana put a hand up and brushed the tear away. Trevelyan’s skin was smooth and invitingly warm under her touch, and Leliana let her hand linger on the rogue’s cheek for a moment. When she pulled away, she missed the contact.

            “I think I’m done dancing for today,” Trevelyan said, voice pitched a bit higher than normal. She stepped away and rubbed her eyes. “I’m just going to collect myself, I can’t imagine it’d be good for morale if word spread that I’d been crying.” She let out a hollow laugh.

            “It’s our secret,” Leliana replied, the words familiar in her mouth. She crossed her arms over her chest. “But, Trevelyan, should you ever need an ear, you know where to find me.” The spymaster felt a nagging sense of disquiet that all this pent up unease had been lying under the Inquisitor’s surface. She knew that doubt hidden away would often fester into something far more sinister, and the thought of it happening to Trevelyan, who was usually all smiles and easy laughter, left a foul taste in the spymaster’s mouth.

            Trevelyan nodded, shooting the redhead a small smile. “Thank you, Leliana. That…means a great deal.”

            They stood a few moments in comfortable silence, and when Trevelyan was ready they walked out of Josephine’s office together. Before they parted ways, Leliana put a hand on Trevelyan’s elbow, saying simply, “Remember what I said. I meant it.” Trevelyan nodded, and Leliana watched her walk off before returning to the rookery.


	13. 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halamshiral, post-quest. A little shorter of a chapter, but hopefully it's enjoyable even so. 
> 
> Also, I formatted differently (rich text vs. html) for this chapter, and while it looks fine from my end, let me know if it looks odd for you.
> 
> ***

            Every minute of preparation for Halamshiral had been worth it, Trevelyan decided as she stood on one of the Winter Palace’s many balconies. Granted, she’d still felt the prickling unease of nervousness all night regardless, but she was fairly certain all that painstaking practice was the reason she and Empress Celene were still alive tonight. It hadn’t been an easy ordeal – there were more twists and turns in the Winter Palace (both literally and metaphorically) than she’d realized. She’d danced with a woman she’d thought an ally, walked into said woman’s trap and fought her way out, uncovered a torrid love affair between the Empress and an elven crusader, reunited the lovers, saved the Empress, and revealed the guilty before the whole court. Trevelyan shook her head and chuckled as she reflected on all the night’s events, leaning her elbows on the balcony railing, surveying the gardens below. She took a sip of the (delicious) Orlesian wine she was holding – she’d finally managed to break away from the revelry in the dance hall, taking a last glass of wine with her as she left.

            Maker, it felt good to have something to celebrate, after all the struggles the Inquisition had gone through. Though the last time they’d celebrated an accomplishment, Haven had… no, Trevelyan halted that thought, taking a resolute gulp of her drink. They had to take their victories where they could, hadn’t Cassandra said that once? Tonight was most certainly a victory, and not only for the Inquisition, but for Orlais and even the elves. She smiled at the thought. That deserved celebration, at the very least.

            Trevelyan was pulled from her introspection when a voice called to her from the doorway. “The Orlesian nobility make drunken toasts to your victory, and yet you are not present to hear them? Tis most fickle, after all your efforts on their behalf.”

            Trevelyan turned and nodded in greeting to Morrigan as the mage approached. “I took the opportunity to steal away some of their best libations for myself. At the rate they’re going, I was worried there’d be little left,” Trevelyan explained jokingly, shaking her glass for emphasis. Some of the liquid sloshed over.

            “Now that would be a true scandal.” Morrigan looked down, picking at the sleeve of her dress. For all of her shapeshifting, the guise of a woman of the court was the most unpleasant. “We shall see if you are still celebrating after my news,” she continued, shooting the other woman a gauging look through her lashes. She straightened up and announced, “By imperial decree, I have been named liaison to the Inquisition.”

            “And we welcome you to our merry little band!” Trevelyan said good-naturedly, the words slipping on her tongue slightly. She’d always been a lightweight, so she wasn’t surprised that halfway through her third glass the wine was showing its effects on her, though it was a little embarrassing. She cleared her throat lightly. “It will be a boon to have your insights on the arcane.”

            Morrigan raised her brow at that. “A most gracious response,” she replied, feeling relieved though she carefully masked it. Before she could say anything further, footsteps sounded behind them.

            They turned. Leliana was coming towards them, her arms crossed around her chest. The advisors had previously decided (after a lengthy discussion) that every member of the Inquisition attending Halamshiral would wear the same formal attire, but Leliana had added small touches to make the outfit her own. She was wearing the same black tunic, but had replaced the silver sash for a blue one that complimented her eyes, and instead of boots she was wearing the blue satin shoes that Trevelyan had bought at Val Royeaux all those months ago. Trevelyan couldn’t stop a wide grin from stretching across her face at the other woman’s approach, and Leliana returned it with a small smile of her own.

            Morrigan watched with interest the way the Inquisitor’s eyes lit up and whole demeanor changed at the appearance of the redhead. _Most intriguing,_ she thought, filing the small tidbit of information away to ponder later.

            “Morrigan,” Leliana greeted first, short and with a warning edge that Trevelyan wasn’t sure she’d understand even if she was entirely clear-headed. Trevelyan watched as the two sized each other up, and the temperature on the balcony seemed to drop a few degrees. They had a history, it seemed – and not a pleasant one.

            “Leliana,” Morrigan replied at last with a nod, her gold eyes flicking from the redhead to the Inquisitor. “Tis good to see you _well_.” The witch’s special emphasis on the last word carried an insinuation that Leliana narrowed her eyes at, but Morrigan simply smirked and took her leave at that, curtsying to them both. It seemed that even after all these years she still preferred to have the last (grating) word, Leliana thought.

            “Hmph.” Leliana shook her head, feeling slightly unsettled despite herself, and turned her attention to the Inquisitor. The brunette had turned and was looking out over the courtyard, her elbows resting on the balcony railing with a near empty drink perched precariously on the rail to her left. She went to stand to her side.

            “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Trevelyan greeted cheerily, turning to the spymaster.

            Leliana chuckled. “Yes, I’d suppose so, what with the night you’ve had.” She looked the other woman over and noted a tear in the fabric of her tunic’s right shoulder.

            “Arrow,” Trevelyan said, following her eyes. “One of Duchess Florianne’s archers.” She brought a hand up and rubbed her thumb over the tear. “One minute she’s asking me to dance, and the next she’s ordering my murder.”

            Leliana frowned. “You were merciful to spare her life.” Though she’d expect nothing less of the Inquisitor.

            Trevelyan shook her head. “If I killed all my dance partners who wanted me dead, there’d be none left standing.” She grinned. “I’m just glad I only danced with her, or she might have had help.”

            Leliana rolled her eyes at the remark, but Trevelyan’s humorous levity brought her own spirits up. “Your only dance of the evening and it’s with a woman who was plotting to kill you.” Leliana arched a brow. “You have a curious sort of luck.”

            “Even so, I thought I danced quite well, in between my witty repartee with the Duchess,” Trevelyan said with a small, lopsided smile.

            “Did you? A shame I wasn’t there to see it. I suppose I shall have to take your word for it. Although…” Leliana drawled, tapping a finger against her lips in thought. “You have been prone to slight… exaggeration in the past.”

            Trevelyan chuckled. “Well then, perhaps a demonstration is in order?” She turned to the redhead with a smile. “Lady Nightingale, would you do me the honor of this dance?” She asked with a bow, holding a hand out.

            Leliana took it with a smile of her own, eyes shining in the lamplight. “I would be delighted.”

            They danced in companionable silence, Trevelyan leading them in a slow waltz to the faint sound of music echoing from the ballroom. As they settled into the rhythm, Trevelyan regaled the spymaster with some of the steps she’d performed earlier, filling her in with the details of her adventures in the dark corners of the Winter Palace.

            “I cannot believe you exposed Florianne in front of the whole court,” Leliana said in an obviously delighted tone as Trevelyan led her in a spin. “People will be talking about it for weeks.”

            “I live to serve the court its due gossip,” Trevelyan said with a laugh.

            Trevelyan attempted a cross-step that she’d seen another couple perform earlier. The first was fine, but on the second she caught the toe of her right boot on that of her left, and with a curse she stumbled.

            On reflex, Leliana stepped forward, putting both hands on the brunette’s waist to steady her.

            Trevelyan laughed, settling quite comfortably into the spymaster’s arms. “I knew I was bound to trip up sometime tonight. I should’ve stuck to the basic step, I suppose I got carried away,” she said, looking up at Leliana with a grin, her warm breath ghosting across Leliana’s skin.

            “It’s alright,” Leliana said distractedly, staring down at the brunette, a small nagging feeling in the back of her mind like she was missing something, something just out of reach. Trevelyan was close enough that Leliana could count the flecks of brown in her eyes, and she wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light but the younger woman’s eyes seemed darker now, with a pull that was almost intoxicating.

            “Leliana, I just want to say…” Trevelyan hesitated, looking away, and Leliana could just make out the beginnings of a blush coloring her cheeks. “Well, I wanted to thank you. You’ve been a constant source of strength throughout everything. I wouldn’t be where I am without you,” she said earnestly, her eyes finding their way back to the redhead’s, and Leliana felt her heart skip a beat at the raw emotion there. “I-”

            Clumsy footsteps sounded behind them. “Ah, Inquisitor, here you are!” An obnoxiously loud (and slightly slurred) voice announced. An Orlesian noble leaned heavily on the doorway, his mask askew, but he paid it no mind. “Oho! Lady Nightingale, are you the one who whisked the Inquisitor away? No matter, no matter. Lady Trevelyan, the court simply demands to have its heroine back!” He straightened up with a hiccup, waiting expectantly.

            Trevelyan closed her eyes, jaw clenching tightly. After a brief moment and an internal struggle, she sighed and shot Leliana an apologetic look. “Duty calls,” she said, taking a step back and nodding to the noble in acknowledgement.

            “Trevelyan…” Leliana said, and the younger woman paused. But there was so much Leliana wanted to say, where could she even begin? So she settled for something simple instead. “Thank you for the dance.”

            “Of course. There’s no one else I’d rather dance with,” Trevelyan replied with a soft expression, her lips twitching into a smile. “Though I have a foreboding feeling that I’m going to have to do just that in a moment.”

            Behind them, the noble coughed pointedly. Trevelyan rolled her eyes and Leliana glared at him, but in his inebriated state he shrugged it off. With a last look, Trevelyan left. The noble immediately perked up as she approached, offering Trevelyan his arm, which she pretended not to notice.

            Leliana watched the Inquisitor leave, feeling a wave of conflicting emotions settle over her. She crossed the balcony to lean on the railing, looking out at the garden below but not seeing it. “What a night,” she thought aloud, the events of the evening replaying in her mind. When her thoughts turned toward Trevelyan, she couldn’t stop a small, genuine smile from spreading across her face. _What a night_.

* * *

**Someone is smittennn... <3  **


	14. 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morrigan teases Leliana about Trevelyan. Trevelyan and Leliana talk about Leliana's candidacy for Divine.
> 
> There's something about this chapter that I don't feel entirely certain about, so if as you're reading you have suggestions for edits or anything, let me know. I feel that way about every chapter though, so we'll see what you think! Lots of fluff ahead, as per usual.

* * *

           In the scant few days that she had been there, Morrigan discovered that her favorite aspect of Skyhold was its mornings. The winter sun, breaking free of the mountain’s grasp, bathing the courtyard in gentle light. The relative quiet as only the most dedicated stirred. It was then that Morrigan chose to wander the castle grounds, free from the annoyance of a crowd, and she could almost feel the ancient magic of the place hanging in the air.

            And that was where she found herself now, enjoying the early morning peace. The sounds of combat, coming from the training dummies across from the tavern, attracted her attention, so she strolled that direction. The Inquisitor and the qunari were sparring with wooden weapons, and Morrigan thought it rather ambitious of the rogue to choose to pit herself against him. The qunari was barrel-chested and intimidatingly muscular, and evidently proud of it for he refused to wear a shirt, sporting only some ridiculous harness. Trevelyan as well had dressed down, wearing a sleeveless leather tunic that Morrigan granted would protect her from splinters but little else.

            She watched them for a moment, the qunari striking arcing, mighty blows that the rogue would evade at the last second. The witch shook her head, marveling at the courage or the stupidity of such a match, and caught a glimpse of a familiar figure out of the corner of her eye. Leliana was leaning against the tree in front of the tavern, watching the two as well (though really just one of them, Morrigan would wager). From her angle (and the spymaster’s preoccupied focus), Morrigan could make her way to the redhead unnoticed, and the opportunity was too good to pass up.

            “Leering, are we?” Morrigan remarked by way of a greeting as she neared the spymaster. The other woman must’ve at least heard her approach, because she did not jump.

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Leliana said defiantly, with the hint of a blush staining her cheeks at being caught, and for a moment Morrigan was reminded of the Leliana that she had known, all those years ago, the silly and frivolous girl who had somehow managed to grow into a hardened and capable woman. But of course that girl remained somewhere under the spymaster’s cool exterior, and Morrigan knew just how to draw her out.

            Morrigan smirked, turning her gaze back to the Inquisitor. “Oh? 'Tis a shame – what a fine specimen of the human form, after all.” She remarked, then lowered her voice and drawled, “A lean physique, muscles carved as if from stone. Such a form belies power, does it not? The power to conquer, both in battle and…in other matters.” She looked at the spymaster out of the corner of her eye, awaiting a reaction, and was not disappointed.

            Leliana blushed, this time a deep red, and averted her gaze from where it had been trained on Trevelyan, though Morrigan noted it didn’t stay averted for long. “M-Morrigan!”

            “What? 'Twas only an observation,” Morrigan said, putting a hand on her hip and shrugging a shoulder, only barely able to conceal a wicked smirk. Coyly, she added, “But alas, as one who is a candidate for the next Divine, no doubt you are above such temptations of the flesh.”

            Leliana crossed her arms and turned to the witch, giving her a cool glare, having regained some of her composure though to Morrigan’s trained eye still appearing unsettled. “Being Divine – being considered for Divine – has nothing to do with this,” she accused, attempting to shift the topic. She was suspicious that Morrigan knew about her candidacy, though she knew gossip spread like wildfire throughout Skyhold.

            “Oho, so there’s a ‘this,’ is there?” Morrigan asked, unable to hold back her smirk any longer.

            Leliana’s eyes widened. “W-what? I…” She trailed off – so she had improved on her (annoying) habit of babbling, Morrigan noted.

            “How easily you become flustered!” Morrigan said amusedly, chuckling.

            Leliana narrowed her eyes, realizing the other woman was simply trying to get a rise out of her, clenching her jaw as she tried to suppress her temper. “Quit harassing me!”

            “Now that, I cannot do. I would surely wither from insipid boredom.” Morrigan waved a hand dismissively at the mere thought. How droll that would be – how else would be entertained? She was in the middle of a frozen wasteland, surrounded by the mindless, zealous faithful.

            Leliana sighed, a long-suffering, wary sigh that Morrigan distinctly remembered. Her gaze flitted back to the Inquisitor, who was still managing to dodge the Iron Bull’s blows (though was noticeably slowing), then back to the witch by her side. “As…delightful as this conversation has been, I must return to my work.”

            As she walked away, Morrigan called out after her, “So you were simply here to gawk!” Upon getting no reaction, she added, “At least you shall have your active imagination to keep you company in your lonely tower.”

            Morrigan spied Leliana’s shoulders grow rigid and tense, and her hands curl into fists at her side, but the redhead did not turn around. Morrigan watched her go with a sense of victory and a wide smirk.

* * *

 

            Trevelyan rolled her shoulders as she took the steps up to the rookery. Her muscles burned from her earlier training session with the Iron Bull, and she had bruises on top of bruises, but it was a pleasant, accomplished sort of pain. Bull had been agile, but his size made him a tad slow and he tended to signal his next moves through his stance so a good portion of the time she’d managed to dodge his blows. The improvements she’d made to her combat style gave her a sense of pride and a gratefulness to her companions who’d helped her along the way, including the spymaster that she was on her way to visit. Trevelyan paused near the last step, considering; how long had it been since she’d last trained with Leliana? Maker, it felt like ages – had it been since Haven? She’d have to ask her if she wanted to spar again, though the spymaster was likely busier than ever with her candidacy for Divine hanging over her, atop her regular duties.

            When Trevelyan stepped into the rookery, it seemed empty except for the ravens. The other woman wasn’t at her desk as she usually was. Trevelyan scanned the room until she spotted her a few paces off.

            Leliana was kneeling in prayer next to the candlelit figure of Andraste. She glanced over her shoulder at Trevelyan’s approach, and at Trevelyan’s look she explained. “I was pondering who might be Divine, and it suddenly occurred to me.” She stood. “Is it so ridiculous for the Grand Clerics to support me? Why shouldn’t they?”

            Trevelyan frowned at the outburst. “It’s not ridiculous at all,” she said, wondering what – or who – had given the older woman the thought.

            Leliana’s eyes grew steely. “There are whispers that I am a radical – as though that is an insult! – and must be kept from the Sunburst Throne lest it crumbles under my rule.” The spymaster scoffed.

            Trevelyan rolled her eyes – that line of thought sounded exactly like the Chantry. “The world is falling apart around us, and people are worried about change. The Chantry is collapsing from its own weight, change is the only thing that will _save_ the Sunburst Throne.” Trevelyan said, unable to keep a hint of scorn from her voice. Throughout her time with the Inquisition, the Chantry had fought them at every turn, often at the expense of the faithful they were meant to care for. And before that, they’d been supportive of the Circles despite being aware of the Templars’ abuses of mages. Needless to say, Trevelyan was skeptical of the Chantry as it was, so change sounded more than alright to her.

            Leliana gave a hum of agreement, fixing Trevelyan with searching look. She’d known the Inquisitor supported freedom for mages, but beyond that they’d never discussed matters of reform, and she found herself wondering at the younger woman’s vision for the world.

            Trevelyan leaned against the railing. “If you were Divine, what would you do?” she asked, genuinely curious.

            “Change things,” Leliana said, then gave a shake of her head. “Change everything. No more Circles. The mages will be free. The Chantry will accept them as the Maker’s children. In fact, it will accept everyone. Elves, dwarves, even qunari. Why exclude them? No one should be turned away from the Chantry’s doors. No one is without worth.”

            She turned, staring out the window nearby. “The Chantry allows our differences to tear us apart, instead of teaching us how we are the same.” She paused, thoughtful, then continued. “Justinia herself fought for these reforms. I will see her work completed, and I won’t stop at the Circles. The Chantry brutalized elves and belittled dwarves and warred with the qunari in Kirkwall. They twisted the Maker’s message of acceptance and love into a political tool, and the people of Thedas suffered for it. I will see that suffering end, for everyone. The Chantry will be a tool, but for peace, as the Maker intended. The Chantry’s love will be unconditional, whoever you are, whatever your mistakes.”

            Trevelyan watched her with a smile, watched the sunlight turn her hair a fiery hue, and hung onto her every word. The spymaster might as well be singing, with how beautiful her words sounded, Trevelyan thought. The world as it was had perpetuated so long a quiet agony, whether it was through its racism against elves and humans and dwarves and qunari, or its hatred of mages. How much suffering had she seen, both in her travels and before in Ostwick, that could have been prevented in the world Leliana hoped to create? Just imagining it struck a chord deep within her.

            Leliana looked over at the other woman and halted mid-sentence. “Trevelyan! Are you…crying?”

            Trevelyan put a hand up to her cheeks, and sure enough there were tears there. She shook her head, her smile turning inward, soft. “It’s just- Leliana, so many people have dreamed of a world like that, and you…” She looked at the spymaster, eyes shining, with nothing short of awe. “You could actually _do_ it. Maker knows I don’t have much faith, but you… you inspire belief.” Trevelyan broke her gaze away, looking down at her feet, attempting to pull herself together.

            Leliana was almost taken aback at the wave of warmth that washed over her at the earnest statement and Maker, not to mention the fervent look Trevelyan was giving her. Her heart did a little flip in her chest.

            When Trevelyan looked back up, her eyes were glowing, jaw set determinedly. “Whatever you need from me, name it and it’s yours. You have my wholehearted support to become Divine, should you need it.”

            “I…thank you. Undoubtedly your support will be pivotal, though ultimately it will be up to the vote of the Grand Clerics. Still, it means a lot to hear you say so.” For reasons that had nothing to do with the Chantry and everything to do with her growing affection for the Inquisitor. Morrigan’s words from earlier echoed in her head: _so there’s a ‘this,’ is there?_ And now, to herself at least, Leliana couldn’t deny that there was _something_. “For now, we should focus on stopping Corypheus, or we will have larger concerns than who becomes the next Divine,” Leliana said.

            Trevelyan nodded, still watching the spymaster with a gentle fondness. “I mean it. If you need me, I’ll be there.” She looked like she was about to add something more, but evidently decided against it, straightening from where she’d been leaning on the railing. “But you’re right. We should be concentrating our efforts on how to approach Adamant and the Grey Wardens.” She frowned as she thought about the plight of the Wardens, and what was likely to be a costly assault on their fortress in the Western Approach.

            Leliana nodded, watching as the brunette prepared to leave. She hesitated, then called out. “Trevelyan.”

            Trevelyan turned. Leliana faltered under the gaze of her warm brown eyes, and Trevelyan patiently waited for her to continue.

            “I…I want you to know that I enjoy our conversations, and our time together.” _Very much so, in fact_.

            Trevelyan smiled, wide and dazzling in its brilliance. “I feel the same,” she said sincerely.

            Leliana returned the smile with a smaller one of her own. They shared a quiet moment, both unsure what to say next, when there was so much to be said, the air seeming to grow heavy with all that was unsaid between them.

            Leliana cleared her throat, feeling rather like a maiden again, fumbling for words, and thinking it slightly ridiculous, though it was not an entirely unpleasant feeling. “Ah, I have these reports to finish.”

            Trevelyan nodded, the hints of a blush creeping across her cheeks. “Of course. I’ll leave you to it. Until next time, Leliana.” She lingered a moment more, as if unable to tear herself away, then turned and started down the steps.

            “I look forward to it,” Leliana said, watching her go.

            _So there’s a ‘this,’ is there?_   Leliana smiled. Yes, it seemed there was.


	15. 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Adamant. A war meeting, and Trevelyan makes another promise to Leliana.
> 
> It's shorter, but I think you may just like it. Some tweaks to the canon scenes (Hawke's at the war meeting), and expect more tweaks in the future as their relationship unfolds. Nothing too major though.

* * *

 

            The air in the war room seemed heavy, as if weighted down by the decision about to be made, though Josephine knew that to be fanciful thinking. She glanced around the war table as everyone settled around it. Cullen and Hawke, who apparently knew each other from Cullen’s Kirkwall days, talked in low tones about the state of the troops. Josephine was glad they seemed to be getting along, despite the Champion’s involvement in the Kirkwall mage rebellion and Cullen’s sympathies with the Templars; now was not the time to be making additional enemies.

            Josephine glanced to the other side of the table, where Trevelyan and Leliana were standing. Josephine couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was a certain lightness to her friend’s temperament recently that she suspected was tied to the Inquisitor, and Josephine felt glad for her friend, truly.

            Leliana reached across the table to tap her finger on an area of interest on the war map, leaning close to Trevelyan to do so. The brunette’s cheeks pinkened, though she didn’t pull away. When the redhead straightened, she was decidedly closer to the Inquisitor than she had been before, leaning her hip against the edge of the table next to her, regaling the younger woman with some half-relevant story, resting a hand on Trevelyan’s shoulder. She spoke in a lower tone, Trevelyan nodding along, her gaze flicking intermittently between the spymaster’s eyes and her lips, and Josephine didn’t know if she was hanging onto the words or something else entirely.

            “Your war room meetings are…” Hawke waved a hand at the two preoccupied women on the other side of the war table, fumbling for the right word but seemingly unable to find one. “A bit like a scene out of one of Varric’s books.” Hawke smirked. “I won’t tell you which one though, for propriety’s sake.”

            Cullen snorted at that, though at the ambassador’s look he looked away, rubbing a hand over the scruff on his chin.

            Josephine put a hand over her eyes. Happy as she was for her friend, was it too much to ask for even an ounce of decorum, especially given that they had a visitor? (Though said visitor seemed to find it amusing – still, it was the principle of the thing.) The ambassador cleared her throat loudly. The sound startled Trevelyan, who jumped slightly, putting her hands on the war table and leaning against it, staring down at the map in embarrassment. Leliana shot her friend a look that, if Josephine didn’t know any better, she’d interpret as _annoyed_. Well, that made two of them, Josephine thought, rolling her eyes.

            “Adamant Fortress has repelled darkspawn invasions ever since the second Blight,” Cullen said, taking pity on the Inquisitor’s admonishment and breaking the silence. “Fortunately for us, that means it was built before the age of modern siege equipment. A good trebuchet will do major damage. And thanks to our Lady Ambassador…”

            Josephine nodded to Cullen for the acknowledgement and jumped in. “Lady Seryl of Jader was pleased to lend the Inquisition her sappers, and has already delivered the trebuchets.”

            Hawke piped up next. “While this paints a cheery picture, Inquisitor, there’s still a rather obvious complication Corypheus has thrown into the mix.”

            Trevelyan closed her eyes, giving a shake of her head. “Demons.”

            Hawke smiled, rueful but with the faintest hint of a wild danger. “Oh, but it wouldn’t be half as interesting a fight without blood magic, trust me.”

            Cullen’s expression grew stern. “The Inquisition forces can breach the gate, but if the Wardens already have their demons…”

            “I found records of Adamant’s construction,” Leliana spoke up, looking down at the map in thought but feeling all eyes turn to her. “There are choke points we can use to limit the field of battle.” Limiting the surge of demons would be key to controlling the fight and preventing their forces from being overwhelmed, though it would by no means be easy to do so.

            Cullen nodded. “That’s good. We may not be able to defeat them outright, but if we cut off reinforcements, we can carve you a path to Warden-Commander Clarel.”

            Trevelyan had a sinking feeling in her stomach, and she bit her lip, her gaze growing worried. “This will be bloody.” And there would be many good people who wouldn’t be living to see Skyhold again.

            Hawke nodded, leveling her with a contemplative stare. “Yes. Laying siege to a legendary fortress filled with demons?” Hawke laughed wryly, with a sympathetic yet battle-eager grin. “You sure know how to pick your battles, Inquisitor.”

            “It’ll be hard fought, no way around it,” Cullen admitted. He knew the danger to their men weighed as heavily on the Inquisitor as it did on him. “But we’ll get that gate open.”

            Josephine, who sensed the mood becoming darker, added, “It is possible that some Grey Wardens may be sympathetic to our cause.” She waved a hand to embellish her point.

            “While the warriors may be willing to listen to reason, I doubt they will turn against Clarel directly.” Leliana said, frowning, brows knitting together. “The mages, however, are slaves to Corypheus and will fight to the death.” She spoke contemptuously, barely holding back a snarl at the thought. Grey Wardens, hostage to their Calling, hostage to Corypheus… well, she would enjoy fighting this battle, she thought.

            Hawke’s expression grew grim at the comment, though the Champion stayed silent, staring a hole in the floor, reliving the memory of Corypheus’ unsealing.

            Cullen met Trevelyan’s gaze. “We’ve built the siege engines and readied our forces, Inquisitor. At your word, we march on Adamant.”

            Trevelyan squared her shoulders and nodded, eyes becoming steely with determination. “Very well. Give the orders. We shall leave as soon as we are able.”

            “Understood,” Cullen replied, bowing his head and taking his leave.

            The meeting broke up around them, with Trevelyan hesitating near the war table. Hawke gave Trevelyan a solemn, firm pat on the shoulder, walking out to where Varric was waiting. Josephine excused herself with a kind few parting words, having seen Trevelyan’s troubled expression earlier and hoping to however slightly reassure the woman before the horrible battle to come. The ambassador’s eyes found Leliana’s, and she nodded to her friend knowingly, leaving the two alone.

            Trevelyan bit her lip, looking down at the map with faraway eyes. “I hate ordering people to die,” she said, voice strained. That was the burden of leadership, Leliana knew, having others’ lives resting squarely on one’s shoulders, with all the emotions that came along with that responsibility.

            “You’re _not_ ordering them to die. You’re ordering them to fight.” Leliana spoke earnestly.

            Trevelyan’s skepticism showed clearly on her face. “For too many of them, it’ll mean the same thing.” Trevelyan shook her head, narrowing her eyes and her mouth turning down in a vicious frown. “If I had just fought Corypheus when I had the chance back at Haven, instead of running…If I had just been stronger, maybe things would be different.” She thumped her fist on the table, gritting her teeth.

            “The only thing that would be different is that you would be dead,” Leliana said frankly, a lump in her throat forming at the thought. She’d had a close enough brush with death, even as it had been. When Trevelyan didn’t respond, she took a step closer to the brunette, putting a hand on top of her fist. “Listen to me, Trevelyan,” she said. Trevelyan tilted her head, flicking her gaze up to meet Leliana’s level stare.

            “This will be an uphill fight,” Leliana admitted; there was no denying the truth of the matter. “But I believe in the Inquisition, and I believe in you. Our soldiers feel the same.”

            “I promise I will not misplace that trust,” Trevelyan said fiercely, meaning the words as much for herself as for the spymaster. Saying the words, she realized it was the second promise she’d made to Leliana, mind flashing back to Redcliffe. She wouldn’t break either of them, she vowed to herself.

            “No,” Leliana said with a small smile. “I suspect you won’t.” She brought a hand up, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Trevelyan’s ear, letting her hand linger on the other woman’s cheek. Trevelyan leaned into her touch, biting her lip as her eyes dropped to Leliana’s mouth.

            Leliana felt a wave of desire wash over her, and when Trevelyan looked back up she could see the same feeling reflected there, and her breath hitched. She felt a thrill of lightning shoot through her veins, her nerves humming in anticipation. Trevelyan, after a painstaking moment of hesitation, took a half step forward, leaning up and pressing her lips to the spymaster’s.

            The kiss was almost achingly heartfelt and tender. Soft lips brushed together, tentative and exploratory, all slow and lingering touches, with fluttering breaths in between. Leliana sighed softly, moving her hand to the back of Trevelyan’s neck, relishing in the feel of Trevelyan’s lips against her own. How hadn’t they done this before? Maker, it felt… _right_.

            After a moment, Trevelyan broke away, pressing her lips fleetingly to the corner of Leliana’s mouth, her hands resting on Leliana’s hips and her thumbs tracing a pattern on the fabric. “Leliana…” Her honey-brown eyes searched the spymaster’s blue ones. The spymaster had been a steadfast pillar of strength and faith in Trevelyan’s life for a while now, and Trevelyan felt her heart swell with fondness for the redhead as she looked up at her. “Thank you.”

            Leliana grinned, slightly breathless as she replied, “Oh, don’t thank me yet.” She savored the pretty pink of Trevelyan’s blush, then leaned down and captured her lips once more.


	16. 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adamant. The Nightmare gets under Trevelyan's skin. Feelings and fluff ahead.
> 
> Umm, also, the rating may be going up in the future (not the near future, but a few chapters from now), sooo watch out for that? I've never written smut before, so idk we'll see how it goes...   
> Also, thank you to everyone who's reviewed and left kudos! It keeps me motivated to keep on writing :)

* * *

 

            The screams of soldiers and wails of demons echoed off the stony walls of Adamant Fortress, combining by the time they drifted up to the battlements to form a surreal, almost nightmarish cacophony. The Inquisition forces had taken control of the battlements, for the most part, repelling the occasional attack by the Grey Wardens. The fight had now moved mainly to the baileys below, as the Inquisition made a press for the main courtyard.

            Leliana kept an eye on the Inquisitor’s progress below as her party secured critical siege points. They were currently fighting a pride demon, Cassandra and Blackwall facing it head on and drawing its attention while Solas and Trevelyan scoured for and struck its vulnerable spots. The beast appeared to be growing sluggish, though it still made for a fearsome opponent, all the more so as its desperation grew.

            Two shades moved in to try to flank the party. Trevelyan broke off from the group to deal with them, circling around the closer of the two. Leliana raised her bow, pushing back her cowl so her vision was uninhibited, drawing an arrow and setting her sights on the other. Trevelyan dodged a blow from the shade, retaliating with a deep slashing cut then spinning to strike it from behind, plunging her daggers deep into its back. The other shade, upon seeing her distracted, moved in, and Leliana let loose a volley of arrows, each striking its chest neatly and in quick succession. With a wail, the shade writhed and crumbled to the ground.

            Trevelyan glanced at it, then retraced the path of the arrows, her gaze landing on Leliana in the battlements. Leliana thought she saw the rogue’s mouth twitch into a small smile, but she was too far away to be sure. They looked at each other, before Leliana shook her head, breaking herself out of the reverie, and gestured with her arm at the pride demon. Granted, it seemed like it was all but finished off now, and before Trevelyan could take more than a few steps, Blackwall bashed his shield against one of its legs, and when it fell Cassandra ran her blade through its chest, killing it.

            With the demon defeated, Cullen crossed over to stand by the Inquisitor, telling her something and pointing towards the main courtyard where the heart of the Grey Warden forces lay. Trevelyan dipped her head in agreement, and Cullen turned and made his way in that direction. Trevelyan looked back up to the battlements, seeking Leliana out. Leliana nodded to her, knowing that the rogue was about to enter the more dangerous part of the fray, and that Leliana wouldn’t be able to follow her, at least not for the time being. At the nod, Trevelyan turned and followed after Cullen, with Cassandra, Blackwall, and Solas on her heels.

* * *

            It had been hours since their forces had breached the main courtyard. The Inquisition soldiers were beginning to grow exhausted, Leliana noted, firing an arrow and felling a shade demon that had managed to sneak up on one of Cullen’s warriors, and the man gave her a grateful, tired nod.

            Leliana knocked another arrow, catching movement from the nearby rift. She turned, pulling her bowstring back, then froze. It was Hawke and the Inquisitor’s party, who hadn’t been there just a moment before. In bewilderment Leliana saw a flicker in the rift and watched as Trevelyan herself stepped through, looking worse for the wear, raising her marked hand up and activating the Anchor. Clenching her hand into a fist, the demons around them howled and fell to the ground, and the Wardens stumbled as if they’d been physically struck. Trevelyan watched all this happen with a stoic expression.

            Hawke walked forward a few paces, surveying the area, noting the sudden quiet as the fighting halted. The Champion turned back to Trevelyan. “She was right. Without the Nightmare to control them, the mages are free, and Corypheus loses his demon army.” Hawke cast a glance around at the awe-struck soldiers surrounding them. “Though as far as they’re all concerned, the Inquisitor broke the spell with the blessing of the Maker.”

            Trevelyan frowned. “I’ll tell them the truth.”

            Hawke shrugged. “You can try, but something tells me they will continue to believe.”

            An Inquisition scout ran up, bowing his head. “Inquisitor! The archdemon flew off as soon as you disappeared. The Venatori magister is unconscious but alive. The Commander thought you might wish to deal with him yourself.” As he spoke, a Warden warrior, encased head to toe in traditional Warden armor, came to stand next to him. “As for the Wardens, those who weren’t corrupted helped us fight the demons.”

            The Warden spoke up. “We stand ready to help make up for Clarel’s tragic mistake.” He gave a Warden salute, putting his right fist over his heart. From the slit in his helm, his eyes scanned the area. “Where is Stroud?”

            Trevelyan hesitated. “Warden Stroud…died, striking a blow against a servant of the Blight.” Her hand became a fist at her side. “We will honor his sacrifice, and remember how he exemplified the ideals of the Grey Wardens, even as Corypheus tried to destroy the Wardens from within.”

            The Warden was silent a moment. “Inquisitor,” he said questioningly, “we have no one left of any significant rank – what will we do now?”

            Trevelyan stared at him, and Leliana could almost feel the Inquisitor’s pain and weariness emanating from her in waves. “You stay,” she said finally, voice slightly hoarse. “Stay and do whatever you can to help. Stroud died for the ideals of the Wardens. In war, victory. And we are still at war. I believe the Wardens can still help. Do you?”

            The Warden nodded. “I do, your worship.”

            Trevelyan’s lips twitched up ever so slightly at the response. “You’re still vulnerable to Corypheus, and possibly the Venatori, but there are plenty of demons that need killing. We will welcome your help.”

            Solas sighed heavily, and Cassandra frowned, asking incredulously, “After all that, you give them yet another chance?”

            Trevelyan tensed, her hand bearing the Anchor curling into a fist. “You would have me condemn and dismantle the Wardens on the flawed decisions made by a select group of their superiors, most of whom did not survive this battle? Shall I banish them, so they can fall under Corypheus’ influence once more?” Though she kept her voice low, it still shook slightly with anger.

            Cassandra seemed surprised by the Inquisitor’s outburst, shaking her head. “It is your decision, of course,” she murmured. Solas, meanwhile, maintained a neutral expression, looking away, though Leliana thought she saw his eyes narrow at the rebuke.

            Trevelyan nodded somewhat stiffly, turning away.

            Hawke stepped forward, gaze drifting from the party to the Inquisitor. “While they do that, I’ll inform the Wardens at Weisshaupt what’s happened. Best not to get caught off guard, for obvious reasons.”

            Trevelyan nodded again, feeling a swell of relief. Thank the Maker for Hawke, what an asset the Champion had been.

            The helmed Grey Warden fidgeted, then spoke up. “Thank you, your worship. We will not fail you.” He bowed his head, and Trevelyan almost felt sick, seeing him and realizing that the famed heroes of the Blight, whose stories she’d heard and been fascinated by as a child, were in tatters around her, at her mercy. The world really was falling apart, she thought.

            She felt eyes on her, and looked over to see Hawke watching her. On catching her eye, the mage offered a small, sympathetic smile. “Good luck with your Inquisition. Try not to start an Exalted March on anything. And… take care of Varric for me.”

            “Of course,” Trevelyan replied. “It was good to work with you, Hawke. Safe travels.” Hawke nodded in gratitude and left. Trevelyan cast a glance at the troops still gathered around. “Find a place to rest for the night within the fortress. We march back to Skyhold tomorrow.”

            The soldiers nodded and dispersed, with the Wardens leading the way. For a moment, Trevelyan watched them go, then turned and headed in the opposite direction. Leliana followed after her.

            “Trevelyan…” Leliana said, growing worried when it seemed like the Inquisitor was taking a path at random, turning and stalking down pathways without direction. Leliana noticed that the brunette still seemed tense, shoulders drawn, jaw clenched, hands tightened into fists at her side – she seemed taut, like an arrow drawn back and just waiting to be fired.

            They reached a dead end, a secluded bailey on the far side of the fortress’s walls. There was no one else there, though the place bore the scars of battle- spell scorch marks, blood, the charred remains of what was once a rage demon. There were only two exits, back the way they came or up the stairs to their left, and before Trevelyan could pursue one, Leliana took her by the elbow and dragged her to a corner where they wouldn’t be spotted easily by a passerby.

            “Trevelyan, what’s wrong? What happened? It…looked like you stepped out of the Fade.” Even though she knew that the rogue had done it before, to have done it again… And obviously something happened there, something influential; the strain of it was written clearly across Trevelyan’s expression.

            Trevelyan looked away, swallowing thickly. “Yes. When we were fighting, the dragon destroyed the bridge we were standing on. As we were falling, I…opened a fade rift, and we fell through into the Fade.” Trevelyan felt a shudder go down her spine. The Fade had been unnerving, to say the very least. The surreal surroundings, the demons that took on the shape of her fears, and worst, the feeling of her psyche being laid bare, her secrets and insecurities and even memories being twisted into a weapon used against her. “It was not a pleasant experience,” she summarized dryly.

            Leliana watched, concerned, as Trevelyan struggled to regain her composure. She had never witnessed the younger woman this shaken before and it hurt to see.

            “There was a powerful demon there, the one that was exerting its control on the Warden mages and Corypheus’ demons. It used fear to try to manipulate us, and it seemed to know everything.” Trevelyan faltered, leaning her back against the wall behind her, closing her eyes. “Maker, some of the things it said.” _Ah, Inquisitor, the hero of the hour._ The demon’s voice echoed in her mind. _Stumbling to save a dying world. Though the only thing that marks you as special, as a so-called hero, is the Anchor on your hand. Without it, you would be no one, and the Inquisition could have chosen a leader who is not so weak. It is a pity you, of all people, survived the explosion at the Conclave._

            “You cannot trust the words of a demon. They will use lies and trickery to defeat you,” Leliana said, but the words seemed not to reach the brunette, whose eyes had a faraway look to them. Leliana stepped forward, putting her hands on Trevelyan’s shoulders, which caused the woman to finally look up. “That’s what they were, Trevelyan. Lies.”

            Trevelyan hesitated, frowning, then admitted, “It…it said I should’ve died, at the Conclave. That it would’ve been better for the Inquisition, for everyone.” Trevelyan knew that the Nightmare demon’s words had been a manipulation, but they hit too close to the mark for her to simply dismiss them. She didn’t feel like a proper leader; it seemed that each decision she made led either to death or disapproval, and so many of her successes rode on the sacrifices of others. She couldn’t help but wonder if there was truth in the suggestion that the Inquisition would fare better under a more qualified leader, if her stepping in had crippled it somehow.

            Leliana scoffed, and felt her blood run cold at the thought of Trevelyan’s death, or less morbidly, at the prospect that they’d never met. “That’s not true, you know it’s not.” When Trevelyan didn’t immediately agree, Leliana felt her stomach drop and twist into knots. Leliana wrapped her arms around the younger woman, enveloping her in a tight embrace. “Oh, Trevelyan,” she murmured, feeling the younger woman start to tremble slightly. She pressed a kiss against her forehead, and Trevelyan leaned into the touch. “Maker, how could you believe that, even for a second? You belong here, the Inquisition is better for having you here.” A wave of emotion overtook the spymaster, and she had to blink back tears. “ _I’m_ better for having you here.”

            “Leliana…” Trevelyan said, pulling back and noticing the spymaster’s watery eyes.

            Ten years ago, Leliana would’ve said what had happened had been meant to be, that it had been a divine will, but now she was not so sure. With all that had happened with the Breach, with all the faithful that laid dead or suffering, she questioned whether the Maker had a plan for them, but perhaps He was still present in the details.

            Regardless of how Trevelyan had come to be with the Inquisition, whether by fate or coincidence, Leliana knew there was no one else that could’ve led them in the same earnest, heartfelt way. They would not be the same without her, Leliana would not be the same. Leliana hadn’t even realized how hardened to the world she had become, how utilitarian and unfeeling, until Trevelyan had joined them. Under different circumstances, Leliana might have lost herself, and might never have even realized it (or worse, might have seen it as a strength).

            “When I saw you chase after Clarel, the dragon following you,” Leliana started, remembering how she’d watched Trevelyan run head-first into certain danger, how she’d tracked the dragon’s movements in between fighting the demons in front of her, feeling a desperate worry every time the dragon dived down in attack. “And then later, when the bridge fell…” She hadn’t known that Trevelyan was on the bridge, but given that the dragon had been there, snapping at someone, she had inferred it. “It was like Haven, all over again.”

            Trevelyan brought her hand up and brushed away Leliana’s tears. “But like Haven, I survived,” she pointed out gently.

            “Yes, you came back.” Leliana removed her gloves, then brought a hand up to Trevelyan’s face, tracing the scar that ran over her eye. No matter the danger, Trevelyan had always returned.

            Leliana slid her hand behind Trevelyan’s neck and leaned down, pressing her lips against Trevelyan’s. All the tension, all the adrenaline from the battle, all the desperate emotions, rushed forward and channeled themselves into the kiss. Leliana swiped her tongue over the brunette’s lips, and Trevelyan, breath hitching, parted them readily and allowing Leliana access that she eagerly took advantage of. Feverishly, Leliana pressed her body against Trevelyan’s, backing the rogue up until her back was against the wall. They kissed until the world around them seemed to slip away, until they ran out of breath and Leliana felt light-headed. She broke away, resting her cheek against Trevelyan’s, whispering in her ear, “I won’t give you up, not for anything.”

            Trevelyan tilted her head, pressing a kiss against the spymaster’s cheek, and after a moment another and another, trailing down to the redhead’s neck, scraping her teeth gently across the sensitive skin in a way that most certainly did not help in Leliana’s breathing returning to normal.

            “And I will always come back to you,” Trevelyan said. She brought her hands to rest on Leliana’s hips, and pulled away to look into the spymaster’s eyes. Leliana was relieved to see that they were clear and bright once more. “Always.”


	17. 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Adamant. Trevelyan tells Leliana about her encounter with the Divine.

            It wasn’t until they’d returned to Skyhold that Trevelyan approached Leliana to discuss what the Divine from the Fade had told her. She still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of her interaction with the entity in the Fade, even after writing and scrapping multiple reports on the incident, and finally drafting a final one. Had it been Justinia’s spirit, or just a benevolent demon from the Fade taking her form? Could she trust her words? Every time she thought she’d finally reached an answer, her mind circled back on itself and she became unsure again.

            And then there were her recovered memories from what happened at the Conclave. The Divine had sacrificed herself for Trevelyan’s sake, and the new knowledge weighed heavily on her shoulders. The Divine had been arguably the most influential figure in Thedas, a beacon of peace in their troubled times, and she’d traded her life for Trevelyan’s, the daughter of a minor noble Ostwick family of negligible importance. And on top of that, Justinia had been a mentor and dear friend to Leliana, and Trevelyan had seen firsthand how hard the Divine’s death had hit the spymaster. How could she not feel guilty?

            Trevelyan hesitated halfway up the steps to the rookery, trying to calm the swirling sense of dread rising in her stomach. She looked down at the mark on her hand, which glowed faintly with green energy, and recalled the Nightmare’s words to her: _Without it, you would be no one, and the Inquisition could have chosen a leader who is not so weak._ She clenched her hand into a fist, feeling the mark thrum. The Inquisition did not deserve a weak leader, so she would have to be strong. And sinking into doubt and despair was not strength.

            Footsteps brought Trevelyan out of her thoughts, and she looked up to see one of Leliana’s agents coming down the stairs. “Good day, Inquisitor,” she greeted as she passed, bowing her head respectfully, glancing at Trevelyan out of the corner of her brown eyes.

            Trevelyan nodded to her, straightening and taking a step up when the agent put a hand on her arm.

            “Ah, Inquisitor. About Adamant.” Trevelyan turned. The agent shifted from foot to foot, head still bowed, withdrawing her hand hastily. “I wasn’t there, I was on assignment, but I heard from the others that you… you fought bravely and went out of your way to help our forces retake siege points. My, ah, my brother said that without your aid, his unit might not have survived the battle.” The agent cleared her throat, glancing up and blushing ferociously, realizing she was rambling. Trevelyan grinned at that. “Er, so what I wanted to say was, thank you, Inquisitor.”

            “No thanks is needed,” Trevelyan said. “I was happy to help. And if I fought bravely, I was hardly alone – all the Inquisition’s forces fought valiantly, it made me proud to be at their side.”

            The agent’s lips twisted into a small smile as she looked up at Trevelyan with admiration. “As you say, milady.” She shook her head, turning and scampering down the stairs.

            Trevelyan watched her go, feeling slightly confused over the encounter, but brushing it off with a shrug. At least the Inquisition’s members were keen, she thought as she climbed the stairs.

            When she reached the top, she saw that Leliana was seated, working at her desk, various reports lying before her. Leliana glanced up at her as she approached, greeting her with an affectionate smile.

            “I heard your voice in the stairwell, I thought perhaps you were bringing someone with you,” the spymaster said, returning to her writing. “Or rehearsing lines,” she teased without looking up, her lips quirking into a humorous smirk.

            Trevelyan grinned. “Not today, I’m afraid. I was just speaking with the agent that just left. She thanked me for Adamant, so I told her thanks wasn’t needed. She seemed somewhat…starry-eyed.”

            “Hm? Oh, Piper,” Leliana replied absent-mindedly, jotting down quick notes on the parchment in front of her. “I can imagine. I believe she fancies you.”

            Trevelyan blushed, leaning against the spymaster’s desk. “She doesn’t. How could you even tell?” More likely, she was simply slightly awe-struck by Trevelyan’s title and the mythology that had grown up behind it (a mythology that left Trevelyan ill at ease).

            Leliana paused in her work, looked up through her lashes at the brunette. “I think I know the signs,” she said, laying her quill down and resting her chin in her hand. “Lingering glances,” she trailed her eyes slowly up and down Trevelyan’s body in a way that had Trevelyan’s throat go dry. “Making excuses to be near you, to touch you,” she brought a hand up, fiddling with and straightening Trevelyan’s shirt collar, her fingers occasionally brushing against her neck. She smirked, feeling Trevelyan’s pulse pick up. “Daydreaming of wicked things,” she said, gaze flicking down to linger on Trevelyan’s lips, tugging on Trevelyan’s collar, bringing her down until their faces were only a breath apart. Her smirk grew. “Mmm, yes, I believe I am acquainted with the signs.”

            Trevelyan gulped, looking down at the spymaster, her mind going blank. “O-oh?”

            Leliana released her, moving back. “But I doubt you came to speak of such things. Unless you didn’t come to talk at all,” she said coyly, leaning back in her seat. Her eyes twinkled in amusement at the flush on Trevelyan’s face and her momentary speechlessness.

            Trevelyan cleared her throat. “Ah, no. We…need to talk,” she said, standing up and putting her hands behind her back and trying not to fidget.

            Leliana quirked a brow at her. “That sounds ominous.” Though she said it in a teasing manner, there was an uncertain edge to her voice.

            “It’s about the Fade,” Trevelyan supplied. “I know I told you about the Nightmare and Stroud, but there’s more to it. While we were there, we met something,” Trevelyan faltered, frowning. “Someone else,” she amended, “who guided us through.”

            She hesitated, and Leliana waited patiently. “We met Divine Justinia. Her soul, or a spirit that took her form; I can’t say for certain which it was.”

            Leliana’s eyes widened, her gaze sharpening as it focused with renewed intensity on the Inquisitor. “You saw Justinia? You’re certain?”

            “I saw her form,” Trevelyan repeated. “Whether it was her or a spirit, I don’t know.” She wished she did, but as many times as she’d turned over the encounter in her mind, she remained just as confused as to the answer.

            Leliana leaned her elbows onto her desk, staring unseeingly down at her parchment. “What- what was she like?”

            Trevelyan crossed her arms, casting her eyes around the room until they settled on the figure of Andraste. She considered, then answered, “She seemed calm, serene even. And she guided us the whole way through.”

            “That does sound like her,” Leliana said, her gaze faraway.

            “She helped me regain my memories,” Trevelyan said, turning back to the spymaster. “The Nightmare had taken them from me, but she showed me where to find them.”

            “You remember what happened? At the Conclave?” Leliana asked, surprised, and Trevelyan couldn’t blame her. After all this time, she’d been resigned to the very real probability that she’d never recover those memories, and they might never truly know what happened beyond the shadowy vision they’d seen at the first fade rift.

            “Yes. At the Conclave, I’d interrupted Corypheus’ ritual, just as he’d said when we _met_ ,” Trevelyan chose the word carefully, wincing a bit at the memory, “at Haven. In trying to escape from him and the Wardens under his control, we entered the Fade, and demons attacked us. She helped me escape, but…” Trevelyan clenched her jaw, scowling as she relived the scene. “She didn’t make it out. She sacrificed herself for me.” Like so many others had. Trevelyan just hoped that all she had done since then, how she’d carried on the work the Divine had put into motion at the Conclave, left the Divine a legacy she would be proud of. She deserved at least that much.

            “Oh,” Leliana murmured, and then fell silent, and Trevelyan could almost see the information being turned over in her mind.

            “I’m sorry,” Trevelyan said. “I should’ve done more. We both should’ve walked out of that rift.” She closed her eyes, recalling her first time in the Fade, scrambling up the edifice towards the rift, the spiders scuttling after her, Justinia reaching out to help her up. Running towards the rift, the demons at their heels, Justinia falling and Trevelyan trying to help her up, Justinia telling her to go. She shouldn’t have listened, surely there would’ve been a way.

            Leliana shook her head. “Without you, she would’ve died at the hands of Corypheus, as his sacrifice. But, if a sacrifice had to be made, it is better that it was made for you.” Leliana looked up at the Inquisitor with a sad smile. “Trevelyan, knowing Justinia as I did, I know she wouldn’t have wanted you to carry her death on your shoulders. Do you remember what you said, when I blamed myself for what happened at Haven?”

            Trevelyan thought back. “To put the blame with Corypheus, where it’s due.”

            “Exactly,” Leliana said, leaning her elbows on her desk, folding her hands together. “It’s not your fault, what happened.” Leliana’s eyes narrowed. “And Corypheus will pay, in due time.”

            Trevelyan felt a wave of relief wash over her. “He will,” she agreed wholeheartedly, knowing she’d relish Corypheus’ defeat when it came. “Oh, and Leliana, there was one more thing, about the Fade,” she added, leaning against Leliana’s desk, remembering the Divine’s, or the spirit’s, last words to her.

            Leliana raised a brow, eyes questioning, waiting.

            “She asked me to tell you something. She said, ‘I’m sorry. I failed you, too.’” Trevelyan said, leaving off the last part of what had been said: _Though I am glad to see that my mistakes are being undone._ She wasn’t entirely sure what it meant, but the way the figure of the Divine had spoken them, with a soft smile and eyes shining, Trevelyan knew those words had been directed to her.

            She looked at Leliana, noting with concern that her shoulders had drooped and her expression had crumpled, closed in on itself. “Hey,” Trevelyan said tenderly, putting a hand over one of Leliana’s own, giving a gentle, comforting squeeze. “Are you alright?”

            “I…” Leliana faltered, trailing off uncertainly. She turned her hand, lacing her fingers through Trevelyan’s, and Trevelyan rubbed her thumb in soothing circles over her skin. “I will be.”

            Trevelyan was about to say something more when footsteps sounded on the stairs behind them. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Cullen making his way up. He ran a hand through his hair, looking around until his gaze landed on Trevelyan.

            “Inquisitor,” Cullen greeted with a nod, coming to stand a respectful few paces off. “I thought perhaps I might find you here. Ah, I hope I’m not interrupting,” he said, his gaze flicking between Trevelyan, Leliana, and their joined hands. He rubbed his neck sheepishly, feeling awkward.

            “What can I do for you, Commander?” Trevelyan asked, turning to better face him but otherwise not moving.

            “I was hoping to get your report,” Cullen said. “Regarding Adamant. We will need to put out an official story soon, before rumors choke out anything we’d have to say.” From some of the tales he’d overheard from his men, he knew that said rumors were indeed beginning to circulate, and he’d much prefer getting ahead of them.

            “Such rumors could be used to our benefit, provided they’re flattering,” Leliana spoke up, reverting to her professional demeanor, her features smoothing into a practiced calculating expression. “At this point, there will be no stopping rumors and speculation, so it may be best to simply redirect them.”

            “Perhaps,” Trevelyan said, though she found the idea of people making larger-than-life claims about her disquieting. “But people deserve to hear the truth, even if they choose not to believe it.”

            Leliana smiled down at their joined hands. What a predictably Trevelyan thing to say. Perhaps the rogue didn’t have faith in the Maker or Andraste, but she had faith in people, and Leliana thought it was just as beautiful a sentiment.

            “I have my report written,” Trevelyan said, giving Leliana’s hand a last squeeze before pulling away, standing up. “I can fetch it for you and bring it down to the war room.”

            Cullen nodded. “Thank you, Inquisitor.” He turned away, heading back down the stairs.

            Trevelyan shot Leliana a gauging, questioning look. She was about to ask the spymaster again if she was alright, but Leliana cut her off before she could begin. “Go on,” she said, trying for a reassuring smile. “We can continue this discussion at a later date, if need be.”

            Trevelyan hesitated another moment, her eyes lingering on Leliana, then nodded. “Alright. You know where to find me.”

            Leliana waited until she was sure she was alone, then sighed to herself, staring down at the dark wood of her desk. Trevelyan’s words had given her a lot to think about, and she wasn’t sure what to make of any of it. She felt lost, but she knew she would find her way through. Even though Justinia was gone, Leliana was no longer alone, and the fact gave her strength.


	18. 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skyhold - Trevelyan trains in her new specializations, Morrigan makes comments.

            In between her other duties, Trevelyan had begun specialized training to learn the ways of an assassin. Heir, a Dalish elf and her trainer, had tasked her most recently with improving her stealth, so Trevelyan had taken to sneaking about the castle, materializing out of the shadows next to her target (much to her companion’s chagrin).

            Her latest mark was Dorian. The mage was seated at a small table near his customary spot in Skyhold’s admittedly underwhelming library, and had his nose buried in a book. Trevelyan expected he wouldn’t have noticed her approach had she stomped over to him. She lingered out of sight for a long while, observing as he flipped through the pages, humming to himself when he read a particularly interesting passage.

            Trevelyan walked with hushed steps to his side, bending down to peer over his shoulder. “I see you finally got one of those Tevinter books you wanted.”

            Dorian jumped, the book clattering to the table. “Maker’s breath!” he exclaimed, clutching his chest.

            “Good afternoon, Dorian,” Trevelyan greeted innocently, grinning, picking up the book and flipping it back to the page the mage had been on.

            Dorian glared at her, then shook his head and sighed. “Yes, good afternoon, or it was until you nearly frightened me out of my flawless skin.” He took back the book as Trevelyan offered it to him. “Varric warned me about this, you know. He said he almost choked on his ale when you snuck up on him in the tavern.” Despite himself, Dorian’s lips quirked up in an amused smirk at the thought.

            Trevelyan shrugged, though she felt a prick of guilt. “I’m honing my stealth.”

            Dorian snorted. “I’m no expert, but wouldn’t it be better to pick a more _challenging_ target? Not that I’m not pleased as punch to see you, of course,” Dorian added sincerely, hoping to take the sting out of his words. “Perhaps our dear spymaster would be a more fitting target with which to hone your skills.” He waggled his eyebrows at the innuendo, but Trevelyan didn’t notice.

            Trevelyan eyed the stairs that led to the rookery. “How can I sneak in undetected? There’s only one entrance.” Granted, with enough dedication and elbow grease she likely could find an alternative route, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to scale a wall just for a bit of practice.

            “How should I know?” Dorian asked incredulously. “I’m not the assassin-in-training.” If there was ever a title that least suited his friend’s personality, it was that one. To each their own, he supposed.

            It didn’t matter in the end, Trevelyan discovered, because the spymaster wasn’t in the rookery. An agent, on seeing her looking around, helpfully told her that Leliana had left a while earlier to meet with someone. Trevelyan thanked him and set out to track her down.

            Trevelyan didn’t see Leliana in the main hall, so she figured the next best place to search was outside – if Leliana was meeting with someone outside the rookery, it was likely someone other than one of her agents, so perhaps she’d gone to greet them at the main gate.

            As Trevelyan descended the steps into the courtyard, she spied the redhead a few paces off speaking to an agent and a Chantry sister. Trevelyan slowed, knowing she was in plain sight and it was incredibly unlikely she’d remain unspotted if she continued. Before she could backtrack, Leliana glanced up, making eye contact.

            _So much for stealth_ , Trevelyan thought. She resumed her path, smiling at the spymaster as she passed. She walked purposefully towards the garden – perhaps if she looked like she had come to do something else, she wouldn’t completely blow her cover.

            There were a handful of people wandering around the garden, chatting on the benches and admiring the flowers that had recently come into bloom. Trevelyan made her way to one of the potted elfroots, determining it had a decent angle overlooking where Leliana was standing. She crouched next to it, pretending to examine the stalks.

            Leliana appeared to be questioning the Chantry sister, who nodded and gave a lengthy reply. The agent’s gaze flitted between them, and when the Sister was finished, he nodded as well.

            Trevelyan shifted to get comfortable. If it took too long, she’d leave, she told herself. She had no interest in nosing into her companion’s affairs, so if that’s what this turned into she’d find someone else to practice her stealth on. Her mind drifted. If only they had a mabari, she could attempt to sneak near it – the war hound’s keen sense of hearing and smell would make for an interesting challenge.

            There were footsteps behind her, and a familiar voice said, “Either that plant is fascinating beyond measure, or you are in fact spying on a certain Nightingale.”

            Trevelyan stood, wiping the dirt from the knees of her trousers, then turned to face Morrigan. “Why do people call her that?” Trevelyan wondered, attempting to steer the conversation in a different direction, glancing at the witch inquisitively. She had known Leliana years before, maybe she was privy to some knowledge that Trevelyan was not.

            Morrigan arched a brow at the question. “You are asking me?” She shook her head. “I have no answers for you. If I was to hazard a guess, it t’would be because she possesses the extraordinary ability to chirp, whether those around her wish to hear it or not.” At the Inquisitor’s blank (and slightly offended) look, Morrigan continued. “In our travels together, she was constantly prattling on, and when that ceased, then she would _sing_.” Morrigan rolled her eyes at the memory. How she had grown to cherish silence in those days. But it seemed that the redhead had changed in the years that had followed.

            Trevelyan decided to look past Morrigan’s relatively rude explanation, having learned quickly that the witch was naturally abrasive. She thought back to the only time she’d heard Leliana sing – after the attack on Haven, when she had woken for the second time and Mother Giselle had sung a hymn that had caught on with the rest of the camp breaking into song.

            “She has a nice voice,” Trevelyan defended, looking back to where the spymaster was still deep in conversation with her agent and the Chantry woman. “She sings quite well.” Trevelyan had a multitude of sappy descriptions she’d rather use to refer to Leliana’s voice, but she figured Morrigan would appreciate her toned down version.

            “So you’ve heard her sing, have you?” Morrigan rolled her eyes. It seemed Leliana had not changed so much after all. “I imagine she serenaded you in some revoltingly romantic, clichéd gesture,” Morrigan remarked, expression twisting into one of disgust. The former bard always had liked the sound of her own voice, and subjecting other people to it, the witch thought.

            “Ahh…” Trevelyan blinked, taken aback. Now that was something she had never considered before – Leliana singing to her. It was an appealing thought. “No, it wasn’t anything like that.”

            “No?” Morrigan raised a brow, curious, turning to the Inquisitor. The younger woman seemed distracted, biting her lip, a faraway look in her eyes. Morrigan smirked internally. “Has she never sung to you? I suppose when you are together, she must be doing other things with her mouth then, hm?”

            It took a moment for her words to register with the brunette, but she was not disappointed when they did. Trevelyan quickly flushed scarlet, her honeyed eyes widening, seemingly searching for something to say but coming up short. Morrigan quirked a brow. Oh, the Inquisitor was much more fun to tease than the spymaster had been. She would have to remember that.

            “Oho, you’re blushing! How…precious.” Morrigan purred with a cat-who-got-the-cream smile. Trevelyan only blushed harder, turning her face away. Morrigan’s amber eyes glanced over the rogue’s shoulder, meeting an approaching Leliana’s gaze. “Alas, it seems your quarry has caught you.”

            Trevelyan glanced up, and when her gaze fell on Leliana she could feel her blush start to spread to her ears. Traitorously, the first place her eyes went to were the redhead’s lips (which were drawn in a thin line), and she prayed Morrigan didn’t notice, though the witch’s chuckle answered in the affirmative.

            “Ah, Leliana, how kind of you to join us. We were just-”

            Trevelyan hastily cut in before the witch could say anything more. “Finishing our conversation. I’ll take my leave now. Morrigan. L-Leliana.” She nodded to them both as she left, barely able to look at either of them. She felt hot, in more ways than one. She made a beeline towards the training dummies, thinking it best she let off some steam.

            They watched Trevelyan go in tense silence. Morrigan couldn’t help but laugh, and at the sound the spymaster turned to her, crossing her arms over her chest.

            “Morrigan…” Leliana said warningly in a clipped, tight tone.

            The witch rolled her eyes. “Don’t ‘Morrigan’ me.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Tis no need to get possessive – we were, in fact, discussing you.”

            There were several things in the witch’s words that Leliana wanted to object to, but the spymaster knew anything she said would simply be adding fuel to the other woman’s flames. “Am I supposed to be flattered?” she asked instead, not bothering to hide the peevishness of her tone.

            Morrigan smirked, her gaze drifting lazily from the direction Trevelyan had disappeared in to the redhead. “I care little what you are,” she stated matter-of-factly. “I merely find it fascinating how tightly you have the Inquisitor wound around your little finger. Or are you wound around hers? Tis difficult to distinguish.” Morrigan watched Leliana for her reaction, watching as her expression turned steely.

            Leliana felt her whole body tense at Morrigan’s grating taunting. She shook her head, refusing to take the bait, and turned to walk away.

            Morrigan called after her. “Regardless of how you _wind_ around each other,” Morrigan injected the word with as much scandalous intent as she could muster, which was a considerable amount, “you should enjoy your time together while you are able. I imagine the Chantry will be loath to condone such intimacies, should that be the path you take.”

            Leliana slowed her steps. Though the witch had made the point in an exceedingly tactless way, the words lacked the edge that she would have expected them to have (sounding almost like…advice?), though they still caused a powerful ache in her chest. Leliana glanced over her shoulder, but Morrigan had vanished. It was just as well. Leliana wasn’t sure what she could say to that, and with the lump rapidly forming in her throat, if she could say anything at all.

* * *

            Trevelyan traipsed up the stairs to her quarters, the muscles in her legs burning pleasantly. She’d trained with Cassandra for a considerable time, which had helped clear her head, and had managed to find enough tasks to do around Skyhold to while the hours away. She always felt better when she had concrete goals ahead of her, and the sense of accomplishment was a welcome feeling.

            She loosened her collar, undoing a few buttons, humming to herself, making her way to the wardrobe in the back of the room. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed movement from the balcony. Maker, she hoped it wasn’t a bird – she had a bad habit of leaving her balcony doors open, as she’d done today, and had once come in to find a raven scuttling through her things. If it was, perhaps she could shoo it away.

            As she neared the door and got a proper view of the balcony, she found it wasn’t a raven but the spymaster. Leliana leaned against the stone railing, cowl down and gloves off, taking in the view and enjoying the last of the sun’s gentle warmth. Trevelyan leaned against the doorway and watched Leliana for a moment, watched the way the sunlight played off the angles of her face, how it lit her hair a simmering auburn, and felt a soft fondness swell in her chest.

            Trevelyan quietly crossed over to stand next to the other woman, brushing her arm against Leliana’s, leaning into her. Leliana smiled, turning and opening her arms so that Trevelyan could move closer, and the rogue gladly did. They stood so they could both enjoy the view the balcony offered, Leliana hugging Trevelyan from behind, her arms loosely looped around the brunette’s waist, her chin resting on Trevelyan’s shoulder.

            “I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in,” Leliana said after a minute. “I wanted to see you.”

            “Of course not,” Trevelyan replied, twisting in the redhead’s arms to press a reassuring kiss against Leliana’s jaw. “You’re always welcome here.”

            Leliana’s eyes fluttered closed as Trevelyan’s lips found their way to a pulse point on her neck. “Mmm. I will have to remember that.”

            “Please do,” Trevelyan murmured, pulling back slightly to gaze up at the redhead’s face, tracing the features she’d long ago etched into her memory. “Leliana…I was wondering…” She felt almost shy suddenly, a blush creeping onto her cheeks.

            Leliana waited a moment, but Trevelyan seemed hesitant to continue. “You were wondering…?” she prompted, lips curling into an amused smile at Trevelyan’s apparent bashfulness.

            “Would you sing?” Trevelyan asked in a rush, feeling a bit foolish, like she was a child asking for a lullaby (because who requested to be serenaded – wasn’t it something that was supposed to just…happen?). She turned back to focus her gaze steadfastly on the mountains. “Earlier today, I remembered when you sang after what happened at Haven. You…have a beautiful voice.” Trevelyan’s blush deepened, and she mumbled, embarrassed, “I wouldn’t mind hearing it again, is what I’m trying to say.”

            Leliana laughed, soft and joyful, hugging her arms tighter around the sweet woman in her embrace. “What would you like to hear?”

            Trevelyan was silent a moment, considering. “Anything but a Chantry hymn,” she said humorously, settling further into the redhead’s arms. She stared out at the Frostbacks, the early evening sunlight painting them an elegant golden hue.

            “Hmm.” Leliana thought back to Morrigan’s words from earlier: _enjoy your time together while you are able_. Before she would become Divine, as was likelier with each passing day and each of the Inquisition’s victories, and they would be separated. Yes, she thought, resting her cheek against Trevelyan’s soft hair, anything but a Chantry hymn.

            So she sang bits and pieces of songs that she had learned years ago in her life as a bard, stitching the melodies together, stopping to give Trevelyan the backstory on how she had learned a certain one when the Inquisitor asked. Together, they watched the sun set over the mountaintops.


	19. 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana tells Trevelyan about the Divine's letter.

            Trevelyan leaned against the war table, drumming her fingers along the map. She’d called a meeting to speak with her advisors about the Inquisition’s next steps in engaging Corypheus. They were looming ever closer to launching a full-on assault on his army, and while the thought of finally going on the offensive heartened her, she also couldn’t stop the anxiety from clawing in her gut. Which was why she’d arrived early, just to stare holes in the map of Thedas.

            The sound of the door opening behind her drew her attention. Trevelyan turned around, leaning her hip against the table. Leliana was crossing the room towards her, arms crossed loosely over her chest. When she caught her eyes, she gave a soft smile.

            “Hey,” Trevelyan said by way of greeting, shooting the spymaster a small smile of her own. She noted the wrinkle between the redhead’s brow, a tell that something was on her mind. “You’re early.”

            Leliana nodded, coming to stand in front of her. “There’s a matter I wished to speak with you about, privately.”

            Trevelyan quirked a brow, curious, but bit her tongue, waiting for the other woman to continue.

            “I received a message. From Divine Justinia.” Leliana glanced over Trevelyan’s shoulder at the map, thoughts Trevelyan could only guess at swimming in her eyes.

            Trevelyan’s brows rose in surprise. “That’s a shock. Are you alright?” Trevelyan asked, concerned, reaching out and putting a hand on the spymaster’s arm.

            Leliana looked back to her, her lips quirking up in a small smile at the gesture. “Thank you, but I am. Truly. It was written months, perhaps years, ago, to be delivered to me if she died. A contingency plan, in the event that her death left loose ends.” It was so ruthlessly practical, but that it was necessary seemed such a sad fact.

            “She wanted to offer closure,” Trevelyan said without a doubt; knowing even what little she knew of the Divine, she knew the woman wouldn’t have wanted to leave any of her followers in uncertainty, especially not her Left Hand.

            “More than that, perhaps,” Leliana replied with a wave of her hand, brows furrowing. “I’m to go to Valence, a small village on the Waking Sea. There is something hidden there. I don’t know what, exactly, but the Divine was a powerful woman who used her position to obtain all sorts of things. Whatever she hid in Valence…”

            “Must be important,” Trevelyan finished, nodding, thoughtful. Had the Divine known something, suspected something, that she’d kept to herself? Had she hidden something that could prove useful in their endeavors? There was only one way to find out. “I’ll help in whatever way I can, of course.”

            Leliana smiled at that, the worry in her brow smoothing out, and she took a step closer to Trevelyan. “Wonderful,” she said, voice low and pleased, her hands coming to rest on the brunette’s hips. “You and I can travel to Valence.” She trailed a hand over the plane of Trevelyan’s stomach, slow and deliberate, tracing her fingers around the buttons of her shirt until she got to the top of Trevelyan’s collar. The brunette blushed, her heart pounding in her chest. Leliana pressed closer, and Trevelyan gripped the table behind her, bracing herself, as Leliana whispered in her ear, “And I can have you to myself for a while.”

            “That sounds…nice,” Trevelyan said lamely, mind foggy, shivering at the feeling of the spymaster’s lips on the shell of her ear, her hot breath ghosting across her skin.

            “Doesn’t it?” Leliana asked with a smirk, sliding her hand behind Trevelyan’s neck, tilting her head and bringing their lips together in a kiss that Trevelyan fiercely returned.

            Trevelyan relished in the feeling of the spymaster’s soft lips, the heat that pulsed through her body when Leliana moaned against her mouth, parting her lips so Trevelyan could slip her tongue inside. Trevelyan brought a hand up, fingers fumbling with the clasp on Leliana’s cowl, humming in satisfaction when it fell to the ground. She was unsure where to go from there, however, bringing her hand to rest on the Inquisition crest on the spymaster’s chest.

            “Just promise me,” Trevelyan mumbled, pulling back and pressing feather-light kisses against Leliana’s jaw. “That you won’t wear all this damn armor the whole time we’re traveling.”

            “Mmm.” Leliana brought her hands up to Trevelyan’s collar, undoing the buttons of her shirt skillfully, though Trevelyan noticed her hands shaking ever so slightly. “Perhaps I won’t wear anything at all.” The words were teasing, but her voice had a rough, raspy edge that spoke otherwise and made Trevelyan’s heart skip a beat.

            After she had the last button undone, Leliana tugged off her gloves, skimming her fingers over Trevelyan’s curves, over the ridges and valleys of her muscles, and then gently but with a surprising amount of strength (considering Trevelyan’s own limbs felt like jelly) she lifted the brunette onto the war table. Leliana replaced her fingers with her mouth, exploring with her lips, her tongue, her teeth. Trevelyan’s breath hitched and she arched into the touch.

            “Fuck,” Trevelyan swore lowly as Leliana’s mouth traveled up to her chest, feeling her body tense in anticipation.

            She could feel Leliana’s lips stretch into a grin against her skin.

            “Ah, s-sorry,” Trevelyan said, a blush dusting her cheeks. She had a tendency for courser language when she got into the heat of the moment, something her previous lovers had enjoyed teasing her about.

            “Don’t be,” Leliana murmured, pulling back slightly to look her in the eye. “It’s endearing.” She returned her lips to Trevelyan’s skin.

            Trevelyan swallowed thickly, her grip tightening around the edge of the table, knuckles turning white.

            Behind them, there was a sharp intake of breath. “Maker preserve me!” a familiar voice exclaimed, sounding absolutely scandalized.

            Trevelyan’s eyes widened, and she flicked her gaze over to the door. Cullen was standing there, having turned so his back was facing them, a hand over his eyes. Trevelyan chuckled at the sight despite her face turning an impressive shade of red.

            The Commander must have heard her, because he threw his hands in the air, saying, “Just – Maker – just put your clothes back on!” He mumbled something incoherent. “And for all our sakes’, stand on opposite sides of the table.”

            Leliana let out a groan of exasperation, straightening up, bringing her hands to rest on the table on either side of Trevelyan. She closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against Trevelyan’s own as the brunette buttoned her shirt.

            “Valence,” Trevelyan said, a reminder and a promise. Leliana opened her eyes at that, tilting back so she could look into Trevelyan’s eyes. They stayed like that a moment, before Trevelyan tapped her knee against Leliana’s hip, and the spymaster moved aside, letting her slide off the table.

            Trevelyan retrieved the cowl, shaking off any dust it might have gathered, stepping close to place it back around Leliana’s shoulders. She could feel Leliana’s eyes on her as she fastened the garment back into place, carefully tugging it up over the spymaster’s head, letting her hands slide down and rest over the crest on Leliana’s chest.

            “Trevelyan,” Leliana said, and Trevelyan glanced up. Leliana hesitated, seeming to mull over her words, before she licked her lips and said simply, “I’m glad you’re coming with me.”

            Trevelyan smiled in response. “I’m glad, too,” she replied sincerely. She thought back to the other day when Leliana met with the Chantry sister, and a dark thought nagged in the back of her mind: _We may be on borrowed time, if she becomes Divine._ But she pushed the sentiment away – there was no use dwelling in a possibility before it came to pass, though a part of her knew that was just a convenient excuse to avoid the issue.

            “You can turn around now, Cullen,” she said to the Commander, stepping back up to the war table. She stared down at the map, smoothing it where it’d been wrinkled, her blush deepening.

            Cullen cleared his throat nervously, walking up and taking his customary spot around the war table. He was blushing and refused to meet either of their gazes. A tense silence stretched out, stifling, feeling like a weight pressing on their shoulders.

            “I…I’m happy for you both, for what it’s worth,” Cullen said finally, the tips of his ears still red.

            Trevelyan blinked in surprise, a grin spreading across her face, and her eyes found Leliana’s across the table. The redhead leaned against the table’s edge with a small smile, and Trevelyan could tell from her expression that she wanted to tease him, so she spoke up first.

            “Thank you, Commander,” she said. Cullen looked up at her and nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

            “Yes, thank you, Commander,” Leliana echoed, her smile turning into a smirk. “However, I’d be more thankful if-”

            Trevelyan cleared her throat, raising a brow when Leliana looked back at her. She shook her head. Cullen scratched the back of his head, his face once again heating up in embarrassment.

            Before she could say anything else, the door opened again and Josephine walked in. Cullen visibly sagged in relief. Josephine was reading over some papers on her clipboard, but she must’ve sensed the tension in the room because she looked up, her gaze flitting between them curiously.

            “Did I…interrupt something?” she asked, forehead wrinkling in confusion. “I can wait outside, if there is a conversation you need to finish.”

            “No!” Cullen said loudly, his eyes widening in alarm. “No, let’s just – let’s get on with the meeting.”

            Leliana and Trevelyan shared a look. Trevelyan fought back her grin. “Yes, let’s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bangs pots and pans* ok people the rating is gonna go up next chapter. It’s my first time writing a scene like this soooo idk whether to give a sample and fade out before anything ~scandalous~ happens, like the game does, or to have it fully live up to its M rating. If you have thoughts >>>> lemme know. Also, next chapter is going to be a bit longer, so it may take longer to update (I usually update once a week, for reference) but it is coming, no worries.


	20. 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana's quest, aka: sex in a Chantry. It's my first time writing smut, but I did Research for you all (so many Incognito tabs lol), so hopefully it turned out all right. I don't really know the nuances between M/Explicit ratings, but to be safe I'm calling this explicit, so be forewarned.

            For an Orlesian Chantry, the cloister at Valence was surprisingly serene. The only sound that punctuated the calm silence was the crackle of torches, and sunlight streamed down from the windows near the high-vaulted ceiling, which cast the walls and statues in warm light. From what Trevelyan could tell as they stepped further inside, she and Leliana were the only ones here presently.

            Leliana knelt, offering a quick prayer. The spymaster had forgone her chainmail and steel leg guards, and without them she moved with a quietness that Trevelyan was unaccustomed to, but seemed fitting now.

            “Is it as you remember it?” Trevelyan asked as Leliana rose, her eyes sweeping around to each of the looming statues. Try as she might to recall her childhood history lessons, she could only place a few.

            “It is as comforting now as it was when I came here to visit Justinia, all those years ago.” Leliana smiled, glancing around as well. “It is good to see it still untouched by Corypheus.”

            Trevelyan hummed in agreement, happy that at least some small part of Leliana’s life had remained untainted by conflict. Before she could reply, however, movement caught her eye, and she saw a Chantry sister step into the room.

            “Leliana? Is that you?” the woman asked in a heavy Orlesian accent, her forehead creased in confusion.

            “Sister Natalie!” Leliana said, brows rising, taking a step forward. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Val Royeaux.”

            Natalie strode forward to stand in front of Leliana, and Trevelyan stepped off to the wayside. “No, I’ve been here since Justinia died,” she replied, hugging Leliana in greeting. Leliana made eye contact with Trevelyan over the Sister’s shoulder and shook her head, frowning. Trevelyan’s eyes narrowed – so they were not the only party interested in the Divine’s late gift.

            Natalie pulled away. “This place makes me feel like…like she is still with us,” she said, eyes searching Leliana’s face.

            Trevelyan made her way to Leliana’s side, trying to wipe the suspicion from her expression. Leliana nodded almost imperceptibly at her. “Trevelyan – Inquisitor,” she corrected, then gestured to the woman in front of her. “This is Natalie, a trusted friend.”

            “Wait, ‘Inquisitor’?” The woman’s eyes widened, and her gaze shot to Trevelyan. Trevelyan bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at her obvious surprise. Natalie looked back at Leliana. “You…You brought the Inquisitor here?” Natalie kneeled, and Trevelyan shot Leliana a swift glare. The spymaster knew how much Trevelyan hated this type of deference her title caused. Leliana, however, simply smirked, eyes twinkling.

            Natalie looked up, and Trevelyan quickly neutralized her expression. “My Lady,” the woman said apologetically. “Forgive me for not recognizing you earlier.”

            “Recite the Canticle of Trials backwards and we’ll call it even,” Trevelyan replied with as straight a face as she could muster. When Natalie’s eyes widened and her mouth opened in surprise, Trevelyan couldn’t help but grin.

            Natalie looked down at the floor, her lips pressing together in a thin line. Leliana rolled her eyes, though when she spoke her voice was tinged with amusement. “She doesn’t mean it.”

            Natalie gave a small nod, rising at last.

            “Natalie, listen,” Leliana said urgently, and Natalie turned to face her. “There is something hidden here. Something Justinia left for me.”

            Trevelyan eyed Natalie for a tell – a reaction, or lack thereof, that would give her away. But if Natalie was an imposter, she was a good one, or Trevelyan was exceptionally poor at deciphering deception. “Oh, really? What is it?” Natalie asked, unassumingly.

            Leliana’s expression hardened almost imperceptibly. “I don’t know,” she said, brows furrowing. “But we’ll find it. I’m curious to see what brought us all here.” She caught Trevelyan’s eye, and Trevelyan raised a brow at her choice of words, but Leliana seemed unbothered.

            Leliana cast a calculating glance around the room. “Justinia’s letter came with instructions for me. They were a little cryptic.” Trevelyan bit back a chuckle at the comment. She and the spymaster had discussed the instructions at length, to where they could both recite them by memory. To say the clues were cryptic was almost an understatement, really.

            Leliana rattled off the clues, for Natalie’s benefit: _Always remember that faith sprung from a barren branch, that light has no fear of darkness, and above all, that strength lives in an open heart._ Natalie commented that the Divine must’ve been referring to something within the Chantry, which Trevelyan thought was rather obvious, but she held her tongue. Natalie hung close to the spymaster, and Leliana seemed content to let her, watching her with a cold, almost predatory glint in her eyes, though otherwise her expression was familiar and friendly. Trevelyan decided to give the two space, realizing that she was seeing the spymaster at work in her element. It was almost graceful, how Leliana steered her mark through friendly conversation ( _Do they still sing the Benedictions on Fridays?)_ , including her in their mission, drawing her out – like a dance, Trevelyan thought suddenly, her memory flashing back to when the spymaster had taught her how to dance. It was all smooth elegance on the surface, belying the strategic calculation that went into it.

            Trevelyan wandered around the edge of the room, examining the paintings hanging on the wall. They were all of scenes from the Chant of Light, as far as Trevelyan could tell, or at least she recognized some of them as such. She ambled along, looking them over with mild interest, sinking into her own musings, wondering about the potential hidden meanings of each she passed. She stopped in front of the one in the far corner, a depiction of a snarl of thorns circling around two pillars with a single white rose blooming in the middle.

            “I was in the cloister in Lothering when the Blight began. There was a lot of fear back then,” Leliana said softly, coming to stand at Trevelyan’s side, their arms brushing. She looked at the painting thoughtfully. “No one knew what was going to happen, whether we would live or die.” Trevelyan remembered how wave after wave of refugees had flooded the Free Marches during the year of the Fifth Blight, and long afterwards. She had been a teenager, not understanding the full weight of what was happening, but the anguish she had seen in the eyes of people who’d had their lives ripped out from under them had given her many a nightmare.

            Leliana, apparently also having lost herself in memories, continued. “And then one morning, I found a single bloom on a dead rose bush, and I thought, ‘Even in the midst of all this, life finds a way. The Maker hasn’t abandoned us.’” Her lips turned up in a small smile at the thought.

            “Faith in the heart of darkness is admirable,” Trevelyan said. A small, unassuming device jutting out from the wall directly under the painting caught her eye. It looked almost like a nail, somewhat ajar – but why would there be a nail in a stone wall? She stepped closer, running her hand over it, and it gave slightly under her touch. She applied more pressure and realized it was a hidden mechanism of some sort, like a latch.

            “‘Faith sprung from a barren branch,’” Trevelyan said, shaking her head. This was the first clue, solved. “If this one was a painting, what’s the chance that all of them will be?”

            Leliana shrugged. “There is only one way to find out.” Her gaze flicked to Natalie, who was standing a few paces behind them, far enough not to be intrusive but close enough to listen in. Leliana looked back to Trevelyan, grasping the rogue’s hand in one of her own and giving it a quick squeeze. In a lower tone, she suggested, “Perhaps we should split up, to cover more ground more quickly?”

            Trevelyan nodded. Though she wasn’t fond of the idea of Leliana wandering around with a potential threat, she also was more than confident that the spymaster could take care of herself.

            Trevelyan allowed them to search the rest of the room while she rounded the corner and entered the back room. The room was circular, bathed in a warm glow from all the candles lining the wall, a stone alter standing in its middle with a large fire burning next to it. As she walked around the room, she tugged on her collar, the heat of all the combined flames causing beads of sweat to form on her neck. She was thankful that at least she was wearing short sleeves even if she had leather armor on top. She understood the need for a venerating atmosphere, but how did the members of the Chantry, as heavy and fully encompassing as their robes were, bear it for any length of time? Trevelyan shrugged a shoulder. Perhaps the devout didn’t concern themselves with such earthly things.

            When she was halfway around the room, Leliana and Natalie walked in, sweeping the room in the opposite direction Trevelyan had started in. Leliana paused in front of a painting depicting the betrayal of Andraste, showing a knight running a sword through her chest.

            “‘An open heart’…Surely not.” Leliana said, stepping around the candles to examine underneath the painting. Sure enough, she found another hidden mechanism directly underneath the picture’s frame. “Well that one was quite literal. And morbid.”

            Trevelyan laughed, thinking the Divine had a sense of humor she probably would’ve enjoyed. Leliana shot her a look, and Trevelyan raised her hands in mock-defense. “Is this one tied to you as well?” she asked, curious. She hadn’t considered it before, but if the instructions were all personalized to the Divine’s Left Hand, it would add a level of security to keep whatever she’d hidden out of the wrong hands.

            Leliana pursed her lips in thought, and Trevelyan tugged on her collar again, eyeing the spymaster’s mouth and feeling herself heat up for an entirely different reason. “Justinia always said that compassion was my greatest strength. Doubt is easy. It takes courage to trust,” she said, and Trevelyan recognized the words as similar to the ones Leliana had offered her as comfort when she’d been nervous about Halamshiral.

            “‘An open heart’,” Trevelyan murmured more to herself than the other woman. She turned away with a smile. “It’s true.” It had been what had drawn them together, first as friends, then as more.

            One clue remained: _Light has no fear of darkness._ Trevelyan looked down at the candles at her feet. Would they have to search around every single one? Her gaze flicked to the alter, then up to the stony face of the statue of Andraste. Her expression seemed sorrowful, and Trevelyan thought it odd that the Chantry seemed to love to depict her as mournful-looking considering how the woman’s entire life had been a blaze of glory.

            _A blaze_ … Trevelyan’s eyes fell to the fire at the statue’s base. She crossed over to it, hope and anticipation sparking in her chest. She spotted the last mechanism and quickly pressed it, stepping away from the swelteringly hot fire. In answer, the sound of scraping stone echoed from somewhere behind Trevelyan.

            “What was that?” Natalie wondered.

            “It looks like we opened something,” Leliana replied, circling around the alter and eyeing the wall behind Trevelyan, where the noise sounded from.

            Trevelyan turned. Facing her was what appeared to be a mural of Andraste, the painted woman staring at her with vacant eyes. Trevelyan moved closer and realized there appeared to be a latch, and when she opened it the mural swung forward like a door, revealing another smaller mural of a white-robed Andraste holding her arms open. As she watched, the mural lifted to reveal a hidden chamber. Inside, there was a pedestal and atop it, a small chest. Trevelyan knew it was what they were seeking, but she held back, waiting for Leliana, knowing whatever lay inside was meant for the redhead and not for her.

            Leliana and Natalie came to stand next to her, one on each side. Natalie peered inside, jostling nearer to Trevelyan to get a better view, and Trevelyan could feel Leliana bristle next to her.        “What is it, do you think?” Natalie asked, moving to place a hand on Trevelyan’s shoulder. What her intentions were, Trevelyan didn’t know and never would, because Leliana grabbed her wrist and dragged her backwards.

            Trevelyan turned and watched as Leliana pinned Natalie against the statue of Andraste, drawing a dagger and pressing it close to the woman’s neck. Trevelyan felt every muscle in her body tense at the scene unfolding in front of her.

            “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Leliana said, voice low and threatening, with a fierce scowl.

            “Leliana,” Trevelyan said, taking a step forward. Though she had a pretty good idea, still she asked, “What are you doing?”

            “I’m protecting us,” Leliana said, glancing at Trevelyan. The rogue was relieved to see that, while flashing with anger, her eyes were clear and focused. Leliana turned back to Natalie, who squirmed in her grip. “They never sing the Benedictions on Fridays, Natalie. Something so simple, but you got it so wrong. I wanted to believe, but you were lying from the start.”

            Natalie said nothing, but her expression hardened, her eyes narrowing.

            “That’s quite alright, you don’t need to say anything. You’ve already told me everything I need to know.” Leliana pressed the dagger against Natalie’s neck. “The prickleweed burrs on your hem, talking about the sun rising through the Breach, it all points to a single place: Morelle in the Dales. Grand Cleric Victoire’s bastion. She sent you, didn’t she? Victoire always was an opportunist.”

            Trevelyan held her breath, waiting for the imposter’s response. Natalie frowned. “The Inquisition has turned Thedas away from the true Chantry. It must be stopped.” An admission and a defiance. “Mother Victoire is well loved by many. The Inquisition has more enemies than you know.”

            “And Victoire thinks she can ally with them?” Leliana sounded incredulous. Trevelyan wasn’t sure of the exact politics of their position, but it seemed to her that their enemies would be rather difficult to unify and a dubious banner to herald.

            She shook her head. “We don’t have to be at odds, Natalie. You could come with us. Join the Inquisition,” Trevelyan offered, eyeing the blade Leliana held to the imposter’s throat. There had to be a way to end this without bloodshed.

            Natalie glared defiantly at her. “I was called to serve the Grand Cleric. I will not betray her.” She turned her gaze back to Leliana. “Kill me then. I’m not afraid to die for my beliefs.” Her voice, low and angry, did not waver. She stared into Leliana’s eyes. “At least I still know what I believe.”

            Leliana was quiet for a moment, and with her back to her, Trevelyan was unsure what she was thinking. Finally, she said, “How self-righteous.” She sounded…amused? “For someone under the knife.”

            “Leliana…” Trevelyan took a step forward.

            Leliana shook her head, lowering her knife. She moved aside. “Run, Natalie. Tell your mistress she has a choice. The Inquisition will not back down.”

            Natalie looked down, brows drawn together gravely, her eyes thoughtful. As she made a move to leave, Leliana spoke again. “And Natalie – I do know what I believe.” Leliana squared her shoulders, staring the agent dead in the eyes. “Where I have doubted, my faith is now strengthened. And it is thanks-” her eyes darted to Trevelyan, “-to the Inquisition.”

            Natalie looked between the two women, nodding slowly. “I hear you are the favored candidate for Divine. At least the Grand Cleric’s challenge will be well met.” And with that, she left.

            Trevelyan couldn’t help stop a wide grin from spreading across her face, feeling a warm sense of pride well in her chest. There was a time when the redhead would’ve killed the imposter without a second thought, when she would’ve cast aside her faith and humanity, when mercy would’ve been seen as a sign of weakness. At the time Trevelyan had first met Leliana, the woman had lost herself, but now she had found herself anew.

            Leliana was silent for a long moment, watching the agent leave, then turned. She raised a brow at Trevelyan’s expression. “What?”

            Trevelyan shook her head, eyes gleaming. “Let’s see what’s in the box, why don’t we?” She turned and took a few steps forward, coming to stand at the entrance to the alcove. She eyed the chest that sat on a pedestal inside. It was small but ornate, its gold plating intricately designed into a geometric pattern, and on the top was carved a large golden flower.

            Leliana followed, striding past her and coming to stand in front of the small chest. She hesitated, running her hand over the lid, then in a decisive motion opened it.

            Leliana sucked in a breath, and Trevelyan, unable to see from her position, took a step forward. “What is it?”

            Leliana’s shoulders were rigid, tense, and when she spoke her voice was strained. “It’s…empty. There’s nothing here.”

            Trevelyan put a hand on Leliana’s shoulder. She hadn’t known what the spymaster had thought to find, but she knew she’d been looking for _something_ , some piece of the Divine that would help her make sense of what had happened, to help her gain closure. To find an empty box… Trevelyan’s chest ached at what Leliana must feel. “It’s not what you expected. That doesn’t mean it’s nothing.” At least, Trevelyan hoped it wasn’t.

            Leliana traced the edges of the chest. “There’s a message carved into the lid. ‘The Left Hand should lay down her burden,’” she read, and her shoulders sagged. She was silent a moment, struggling to process the information, struggling for words. “She…she’s releasing me. The Divine has a long reach, but it is always her Left Hand that stretches out. A thousand lies, a thousand deaths.” Her voice was quiet but raw with emotion. “Her commands, but my conscience that bore the consequences.”

            The puzzle pieces fell into place in Trevelyan’s mind. “In the Fade, when she said she failed you, this is what she meant.” Despite her best intentions, Justinia had turned Leliana into an instrument of her holy agenda. “Leliana…”

            “All this time,” Leliana closed her eyes, shaking her head. “Justinia carried the fear that she was using me, just as others have done. But Justinia gambled with the fate of nations. She needed me. No one else could’ve done what I did. She knows that.” Leliana’s voice grew stronger, laced with conviction, though Trevelyan frowned. The Inquisitor knew that necessity, no matter how dire, did not absolve a person of the morality of their choices.

            Trevelyan stepped up to stand next to the spymaster. She chose her next words carefully. “Leliana, the entire time I have known you, you’ve been struggling under the weight of what you do, what you’ve done. But, it’s like what you’ve said, what Justinia has said,” she nodded towards the chest. Leliana’s gaze flicked to it, then focused on Trevelyan’s face. “It’s not your weight to bear. What you done, you’ve done in the name of another. You have to let that burden go, lay it down,” Trevelyan turned to the chest, eyeing the inscription along its lid. Conviction flared in her veins – this is what the Divine wanted, but more importantly than that, this is what Leliana _needed_. “Let her go. You don’t owe Justinia anything anymore,” Trevelyan finished fervently.

            “I…” Leliana’s voice wavered. “If it were not for you, I would’ve killed Natalie and called it a good thing.”

            “You’re a good person, Leliana. You always have been, your obligations and everything else just got in the way.” Trevelyan smiled, thinking of how Leliana had been a constant source of strength and support, of her dedication to the Inquisition and her agents, of her fierce protectiveness for everyone in her care. “It’s just who you are. You don’t need me. You don’t need anyone for that.”

            Leliana turned on her heel abruptly, and Trevelyan found herself enveloped in a tight embrace. She blinked in surprise, but wrapped her arms around the spymaster’s shoulders, hands tracing comforting circles on her back.

            “No,” Leliana whispered, resting her cheek against Trevelyan’s hair. “I do. I need you.” Leliana must’ve sensed Trevelyan was about to protest, because she added, “Thank you for showing me what was right when I couldn’t see it for myself.”

            “Something’s bothering you,” Trevelyan said. She pulled back to look in the redhead’s eyes. She had a feeling she knew exactly what was on Leliana’s mind – given that they were in a Chantry, it was hard not to be reminded of Leliana’s candidacy for Divine, and Trevelyan had felt its specter looming over them the entire trip. They’d yet to discuss it, however, so Trevelyan figured now was as good a time as any. It would only become harder if they waited.

            “Trevelyan,” Leliana murmured, letting out a shuddering sigh. “As it stands, Natalie is right. Nothing is written in stone, of course, but among the candidates, I have the most support.” She paused. “If I become Devine, we…” Her voice broke, and she trailed off. “There is no bright future waiting for us.”

            Trevelyan felt her heart clench, both at the words and the raw emotion with which they were spoken, but she tried to block out the feeling, knowing she needed to be strong. Leliana needed comfort and not Trevelyan’s own heartbreak added on top of hers.

            “We’ll make a future,” Trevelyan said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. As she spoke, though, she grew heartened. “The Inquisition didn’t have a future – Thedas didn’t have a future – but against all odds, we made one anyway. We can do the same for us.” Trevelyan knew it would be difficult – wasn’t everything? – and though it might not be ideal, nonetheless surely they could figure something out. But they would cross that bridge when they came to it. “But no matter what the future holds, we still have now.” Trevelyan smiled softly.

            Leliana’s eyes searched Trevelyan’s, and she nodded. “You’re right.” Her gaze dropped to Trevelyan’s lips, and when it flitted back up again, her blue eyes were dark and determined. “And we still have this moment.” She pressed closer. “Might as well take advantage of it, no?”

            “Mmm.” Trevelyan’s heart raced as Leliana, hands low on her waist, backed her up against the wall. Leliana tugged off her gloves and then set to work unfastening the rogue’s leather armor. “You’re sure about this? Here? It’s not…sacrilegious, or something?”

            Leliana’s lips quirked into a devious smirk that made Trevelyan’s knees weak. “It is scandalous and forbidden,” she said, making a satisfied noise as she tossed the bulk of Trevelyan’s armor aside. “That does not make it sacrilegious. The Maker’s greatest gift to us is love – why would He make its expression a sin?”

            Warmth flooded Trevelyan’s chest at the turn of phrase. She reached out and undid Leliana’s cowl, then ran her hands through the spymaster’s silky hair. “Love, hm?” she asked, unable to keep a broad smile off her face.

            Leliana’s fingers paused from where they were midway through undoing the buttons on Trevelyan’s tunic. She bit her lip, and to Trevelyan’s surprise a blush stained her cheeks. Her eyes found the rogue’s, and she said simply, “Yes. Love.” The words seemed to be imbued with an infinite amount of meaning that made Trevelyan’s chest ache pleasantly.

            Trevelyan let the spymaster finish with her tunic and then cast it aside. Trevelyan’s hands slid to Leliana’s hips, and with a tug she flipped their positions, Leliana’s breath hitching when she leaned against her, slipping a leg in between Leliana’s. She pressed a series of kisses along Leliana’s jaw until she got near her ear, and she whispered fiercely, “I love you too.” Her tongue traced the shell of the spymaster’s ear. “I love you so much. Leliana,” she spoke the spymaster’s name fervently, pulling back. “Let me show you.”

            Leliana’s eyes fluttered closed at the words. She gripped Trevelyan’s waist, and rolled her hips, grinding against Trevelyan’s thigh in a way that made the rogue’s mouth go dry. “Show me,” she said, voice low and thick, and desire pooled in Trevelyan’s core.

            Without her chainmail to get in the way, undressing the spymaster proved a simpler task. When Leliana shrugged out of her shirt, letting in fall at their feet, Trevelyan let her mouth and hands wander over the other woman’s body, the heat of her skin intoxicating under Trevelyan’s touch. She relished the feel of soft curves and hard muscles stretched taut beneath her fingertips, and with her tongue and teeth she blazed a map of the freckles and scars that marked Leliana’s pale skin, making note of where the spymaster whimpered, what caused her breathing to hitch.

            Trevelyan removed the binding around Leliana’s chest, her hands coming up to cup the spymaster’s breasts. Leliana circled her arms around the rogue’s shoulders, drawing her nearer. Trevelyan leaned forward and sucked a pert nipple into mouth, caressing it with her tongue, and Leliana groaned, nails scraping along Trevelyan’s back, grinding her hips hard against Trevelyan’s thigh.

            “Trevelyan,” Leliana said breathily, the need clear in her voice, and Trevelyan thought her name had never sounded more beautiful, more perfect.

            Trevelyan’s hands came to rest on the spymaster’s hips, her thumbs slipping underneath the waistband of her pants and undergarments, guiding both of them down. Trevelyan moved her lips to Leliana’s stomach, trailing her mouth down, nipping as she went. Drawing lower, she paused to kneel down, her gaze flicking up to Leliana’s. The sight of the Inquisitor on her knees between Leliana’s legs, looking up her with dark, lust-filled eyes, nearly had the spymaster undone, and she moaned.

            Trevelyan pressed a kiss against Leliana’s inner thigh, then another and another, slowly trailing higher. “Leliana,” she breathed out as she got closer. “Fuck, you’re so _wet_.”

            Trevelyan’s voice was raspy, and her hot breath ghosted pleasantly across Leliana’s sensitive skin. Leliana arched into her. It still wasn’t close enough. The spymaster reached out and brought a hand to Trevelyan’s jaw, her thumb stroking the younger woman’s cheek. Trevelyan pressed her lips fleetingly to Leliana’s palm. Their eyes locked, a spark of raw electricity passing between them, before Leliana slid her hand behind Trevelyan’s chin and directed her mouth elsewhere.

            Trevelyan brought her hands up and parted Leliana’s folds with her fingers. She trailed her tongue teasingly near, around, Leliana’s swollen center. Leliana’s hands tangled in Trevelyan’s hair, nails raking against her scalp, causing the blood to roar in Trevelyan’s ears. Trevelyan swiped her tongue over the bud, and Leliana writhed in response, gasping. Trevelyan slid her fingers into the slick cleft between the spymaster’s legs, thrusting in time with the press of her tongue.

            When Leliana came, it was with Trevelyan’s name on her lips. Trevelyan realized she was wrong before – this was perfection, the way her name was meant to be spoken, the Orlesian lilt of Leliana’s voice twisting it into a title of reverence.

            Trevelyan leaned back, bringing her fingers to her mouth and sucking on them, reveling in the taste of the spymaster. As Leliana recovered, her breathing evening out, Trevelyan leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Leliana’s taut stomach muscles, trailing her eyes reverently over the other woman’s body.

            “Trevelyan.” She looked up at the sound of her name to where Leliana was giving her a dark-eyed but tender look. “Come here,” Leliana said softly.

            Trevelyan stood, trailing her hands along Leliana’s waist, unable to keep her hands off the redhead, feeling an almost primal need to be near her, to touch her. Leliana cupped the Inquisitor’s face in her hands, sweeping a finger over her lips before leaning down and kissing her.

            When they pulled apart, Trevelyan’s lips quirked up in a grin. “I’ll never look at a Chantry the same way again,” she said with a chuckle.

            Leliana hummed in response, smiling down at her, hands resting on Trevelyan’s hips. “I imagine if the clerics knew what we were doing, they would prefer neither of us ever _see_ a Chantry again. But perhaps,” she said mischievously, her fingers slipping beneath the band of Trevelyan’s pants. “Since we are here, we could stay just a little longer.”

            Trevelyan laughed, her eyes twinkling. “We might as well wear out our welcome.”


	21. 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at Skyhold - Josephine and Leliana have a talk. A sweet (like, cavities sweet) little filler chapter, next chapter is Trevelyan leaving for the Arbor Wilds (originally they were one chapter but I decided to break it up). Sorry for the wait!

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* * *

 

            When they arrived back at Skyhold, it was almost as if they’d never left at all, with how quickly they were pulled back into their regular duties. But though all their tasks remained the same, everything felt different, the very air within the fortress felt different somehow. Charged, almost.

            Leliana attributed most of the feeling to what had happened in Valence. She glanced at the ornate gold-plated chest that sat on her desk, a reminder not only of what had happened but of all that she had been through and all that she would not have to go through again. Valence had been a rebirth for her. (Once, Leliana would’ve been wary to use such a word, but now – well, there was no denying that she was changed, now.) She was free. Free of the burden she had carried as the Left Hand of the Divine. Free of the hardness she had steeled herself with through the years. Or at least free of the need for it; Leliana knew that it would take time to dismantle the walls she had built around herself. But she had time, and what was more, she had a reason.

            Leliana smiled down at the report on her desk as her thoughts turned towards Trevelyan. The woman she loved, the woman who loved her. Maker, she her head still swam and her heart still fluttered when she remembered their time at the Valence cloister. In truth, she hadn’t even meant to let the word “love” to leave her lips. She hadn’t wanted to put a name to the emotion she’d been feeling. She had thought that naming it meant making it undeniably real, real in a way that almost taunted the world to tear it away from her. But once she’d looked into Trevelyan’s eyes, shining bright with such a soft fondness, once she’d seen her wide grin that without fail caused her heart to skip a beat, she couldn’t deny that love was exactly what it was. Nor could she deny that it was real, without being voiced; real in the elation she had felt when Trevelyan had agreed to come away with her, real in the way that her heart raced when Trevelyan kissed her, real in the way that her skin tingled under the rogue’s touch. Real in the way that she had wanted to take Trevelyan in the cloister so that when – if – Leliana became Divine, she wouldn’t be able to be in a Chantry without thinking of Trevelyan, without remembering the feel of Trevelyan beneath her fingertips, without remembering the way she’d rasped out Leliana’s name. She had resigned some small part of herself to the distinctly likely possibility that, with the Sunburst Throne looming, they were on borrowed time. Their relationship was like the fervent words to a prayer that she did not expect to be heard. But then Trevelyan, with her eyes glowing and her jaw set determinedly, had said that they could make a future together regardless of what lay ahead, and looking at her then, Leliana felt _hope_ surge in her chest. So much of her life had been duty and sacrifice, but perhaps… perhaps it didn’t have to be.

            So Leliana was sincere in her belief that everything felt new, felt different. But there was something else, something beyond just them, that was different as well. There was a palpable undercurrent of excitement running through Skyhold’s halls, lighting up the eyes of everyone from the servants to the soldiers to the visiting dignitaries, and it did not take long to discover its cause. Corypheus’ army, which had been in tatters after Adamant, had turned on its heel and retreated to the Arbor Wilds, and the Inquisition and its allies were eager to pursue, eager to press an offense in a final, decisive battle. Trevelyan, when she had heard, had grinned, a battle-hungry glint in her eyes. Leliana could see Haven reflected there, all the things the Inquisition had lost thanks to Corypheus, and she understood. It was past time to avenge the fallen, to set the world right again.

            That didn’t quell the trepidation she felt at the thought of Trevelyan facing down a now desperate Corypheus. She didn’t doubt the rogue – Leliana knew Trevelyan would stop at nothing to defeat the former Tevinter magister. Therein laid her worry. Despite how far they’d come, Leliana couldn’t help but be haunted by Haven, haunted by the nagging thought that Thedas had more dead heroes than live ones. She would not have Trevelyan add herself to that list. Not for the world.

            Leliana realized she was clenching her quill in an iron grip, and with a slight sigh she laid it down. She brought her hands up to massage her temples. _Worry is for the unprepared,_ she reminded herself. It was a small comfort. If there was one thing Leliana was not, it was unprepared.

            The sound of footsteps ascending the staircase to the rookery drew her out of her thoughts. For a brief moment, she thought it might be Trevelyan, but after listening a second she knew it wasn’t. Trevelyan tended to bound up the steps, while these were measured and light and seemed familiar as well. Leliana was unsurprised when Josephine came into view.

            “Good afternoon, Josie,” she greeted her friend, shooting her a small smile.

            Josephine’s eyes crinkled kindly as she smiled in turn. “Yes, good afternoon – though you would be hard-pressed to tell it here.” The ambassador shot a glance around the room. Leliana knew her friend disliked the dark and closed-off nature of the rookery, much preferring the openness of her own office, bathed as it was in warm light and the heat from her fireplace.

            Leliana sat back in her chair, her eyes twinkling in amusement. She was about to make a teasing comment, but Josephine spoke again.

            “I came to see if you’d like to go for a walk. It really is a good afternoon, outside.” Leliana knew that walks were often a pretext Josephine used when she was worried for her, as a way of tearing her away from her work. It used to irk Leliana at times, before she accepted that it was just her friend’s method of looking out for her in her own small way.

            Leliana shrugged, looking down at the reports on her desk. None of them were urgent – most of her agents were stationed, waiting for orders. “Alright,” she agreed, standing and making her way to her friend’s side. Josephine beamed at her, and led the way out.

            They were mostly silent as they made their way outside, the ambassador nodding in passing to their companions and visitors. When they finally descended the steps leading out of the main hall, Josephine sighed contentedly, turning her face up towards the sun and basking in its warm glow. Leliana chuckled, knowing how her friend detested the cold, and she had to admit that the warmth felt nice after the long winter.

            Josephine opened her eyes and turned them to the spymaster. “I feel like we haven’t had the opportunity to speak since you’ve returned.” They reached the grass and made their way to the garden.

            Leliana hummed in agreement. None of them had had much time to talk of anything other than plans and strategy. “We’ve all been busy with planning our final assault.”

            Josephine nodded, mouth drawing into a fine line at the thought of the upcoming battle. She glanced again at her friend, and Leliana thought she saw concern flicker in her dark eyes, but the ambassador turned away to examine the garden’s blooming flowers before she could be certain.

            “So,” Josephine said, reaching down to gently stoke the petals of a delicate looking pink flower. “How _was_ your time in Valence?”

            Leliana felt her lips stretch into a smile of their own accord. “It was…eventful,” she replied, biting her lip as a myriad of more fitting adjectives came to mind. “As I expected, we ran into some trouble.” She quickly related the story of Natalie to the ambassador, who looked positively beside herself when she heard Leliana had let the agent go. Leliana rolled her eyes and continued. “But in the end, we found what we were looking for. More than that, perhaps,” she added, more to herself than to the ambassador.

            Josephine nodded with a small smile. They made a loop around the garden, walking in a comfortable silence, and when they made it all the way around they then set out towards the other end of Skyhold’s grounds.

            “Trevelyan blushed a rather brilliant shade of red when I asked her the same question,” Josephine remarked after a moment. She glanced away, making a show of watching some older children running about in the distance, but Leliana could still see her wide and mischievous grin. “It was a most intriguing reaction.”

            Of course Trevelyan had, Leliana thought fondly, smiling. She could practically feel Josephine’s curiosity hanging in the air, so she responded, “Like I said, the trip was _eventful_.” She hoped the insinuation was enough; Leliana thought even she might blush if she had to go into further detail.

            Josephine’s grin became pure and elated, and she turned to face Leliana once more. “I’m happy for you, Leliana. Truly, I am,” she said sincerely, patting her friend’s arm. “You two are wonderful together.”

            Leliana felt a surge of gratefulness for her pure-hearted friend. “Thank you, Josie. I…” She slowed her step, and Josephine matched her pace. Leliana looked up at the clear blue sky overhead. “She is very dear to me.” The simple truth said aloud made her feel lighter and her heart pound.

            Josephine practically shone with joy. She shook her head with a smile, stepping around a group of Cullen’s soldiers. Her eyes caught something up ahead. “Speaking of the Inquisitor,” she said with a wave of her hand.

            Leliana followed her gaze. In the clearing before the merchant stalls, Trevelyan had attracted a small ragtag crowd of children. Some of them Leliana recognized as servants’ children and others wore clean-cut tunics that clearly designated them as nobility. All of them were equipped with sticks or toy wooden swords and were chasing Trevelyan about, shrieking and laughing. The rogue had loosely tied a familiar-looking silver sash around her waist, and she twisted and turned as the children grabbed for it, playing a rather outmatched game of keep-away.

            The two advisors hung back, content to simply observe from afar. A gentle, tender feeling bloomed in Leliana’s chest at the sight of something so ordinary and innocent. Leliana would hazard a guess that some of these children hadn’t laughed and played like this in a long while, so the thought that this moment could happen now, amidst all the chaos around them, made it all the more special. Next to her, Josephine was uncharacteristically quiet, and Leliana glanced at her friend curiously.

            As Josephine watched the game before them, something shifted in her countenance. “I keep telling myself that one day, we will no longer be at war, and there will be no need to fight.” Josephine said, and Leliana was surprised at how heavy her voice sounded all of a sudden. “One day, children can pick up a wooden sword simply to play, like this, and not to train.” She smiled thinly, but it lacked much of its previous mirth, replaced instead with longing.

            “Josie…” Leliana understood the sentiment, and put a comforting hand on the ambassador’s arm. “That is what we’re fighting for, no? If everything goes to plan, our forces will defeat Corypheus and his army in the Arbor Wilds, and then we will stitch back together the pieces of Thedas. We are at the cusp of peace.”

            An elven girl who had been lingering on the edge of the group, either shy or hesitant to join human children in play, turned away, thin shoulders slumping. Noticing this, Trevelyan darted forward, scooping the girl up and placing her atop Trevelyan’s shoulders. Trevelyan said something to her, and the girl grinned widely, nodding. She brandished her wooden stick, blue eyes sparkling with determination, defending Trevelyan from a few blows while the rogue dodged just out of reach of a boy snatching for the sash.

            Josephine shook her head. “It seems surreal, to have the end in sight after so long.” She hesitated, then added, “I am glad for it, but… I will miss this, if that makes sense. It sounds so hypocritical to say.”

            Leliana watched as one of the children finally captured the sash, waving it above his head triumphantly. She watched Trevelyan’s easy smile, her laugh. The rogue looked as if she didn’t have a care in the world, though Leliana knew better.

            “It makes perfect sense,” she said, because it did, and she had no doubt many people within Skyhold harbored similar feelings. “After Corypheus is defeated, everything will change.”

            Josephine nodded. She turned to Leliana, some of her earlier levity returning. “Especially for you. The next Divine!” Her dark eyes glowed with excitement, and what Leliana thought might be pride. “You will do the Sunburst Throne justice, Leliana, I have no doubt. Though, imagining Trevelyan in a Chantry, in Val Royeaux of all places…” Josephine chuckled. “Something tells me you will have your hands full, with her as much as with your new duties.”

            Leliana’s brows shot up in surprise. _She thinks…Trevelyan is coming with me?_ To say she’d never considered it would be a lie, but she had never seriously entertained the idea.

            Josephine read the confusion in her expression and frowned. “Ah, I just assumed…” She trailed off, studying Leliana carefully. “What do you plan to do then?” When Leliana hesitated in response, Josephine’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you’d thought to end it and go your separate ways in some foolish – though typical, for you – act of martyrdom.”

            Leliana frowned at the barb, though she knew it was well-intentioned (and had a kernel of truth to it). “Trevelyan _is_ the Inquisition, Josie.” Therein was the problem. Though the rogue had never asked for it, somehow she had become the Inquisitor, a symbol of strength and hope. The world needed that symbol, needed hope, just as it needed a Divine. The shape of the peace to come depended on them.

            Josephine gave no quarter, though her eyes softened in sympathy. “She is more than that, I think. Or she could be, if given the chance.” She patted Leliana’s arm, glancing at Trevelyan, who had been approached by some Inquisition soldiers and was engaged in a conversation with them, her brows furrowed in thought and previous freed expression all but vanished. “It is something to consider, at any rate.”

            Leliana nodded slowly. “It is. Josie…” Leliana paused. There was so much she wanted to say. _Thank you_. What had she done to deserve such a good friend? Someone who was kind and caring, but would not tolerate the nonsense and excuses that Leliana was so good at spinning. Someone who saw the world clearly, in contrast to the shades of gray that Leliana so often got lost in.

            Josephine waved a hand, seeming to understand, her eyes crinkling in amusement. “Don’t mention it. Just, Leliana – I want to see you happy. After everything, you deserve this. You both do.”

            Leliana gave her a small smile. Perhaps…perhaps her friend was right. But it was something she could ponder later. “I think it is time for us to return to work,” she pointed out, and as they began walking back the way they came, she added, “Thank you for the walk, Josie. It was exactly what I needed.”

            Josephine smiled knowingly. “I thought as much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Josephine. And since Leliana plays a big part in Josephine's romance in-game, I thought Josie would return the favor. She's a good friend :)
> 
> Next chapter is Trevelyan leaving for the Arbor Wilds + a goodbye scene. Then the chapter after that is the quest in the Arbor Wilds, so some action and Trevelyan/Morrigan bonding time (as far as you can say Morrigan really bonds with anyone).


	22. 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night before Trev leaves for the Arbor Wilds.

* * *

 

            The Inquisition was _ready_ , and Trevelyan thought there was no sweeter feeling. The force that she, her advisors, and her companions had built from a handful of raw recruits was now a well-trained (and well-backed) army that was about to topple a self-proclaimed god. After everything that they, that Thedas, had been through, it was past time to set things right, and she was looking forward to putting an end to Corypheus once and for all.

 

            At their last war meeting, Trevelyan and her advisors had set their forces in motion, sending scouts and a forward party ahead to the Arbor Wilds to gather intel on Corypheus’ actions and to bolster their allies’ ranks there.

 

            That was almost a week ago now, and the time for Trevelyan’s own departure was drawing near. All this week, she’d felt an anxious excitement running like a current through her veins, echoing like a calling. Now, on the eve of when she was to leave, she found that she couldn’t sleep, the hum of anticipation settling deep in her bones. She paced about in her room for a while, thinking perhaps she could tire herself out, but to no avail. As it neared midnight, she went for a walk, hoping the night air would grant her a sense of calm.

 

            The full moon hung overhead, large and luminous, bathing the stony walls of the castle in a silvery glow. The Frostbacks loomed just beyond, shadowy sentinels in the background. Trevelyan leaned against the edge of the battlement, staring out at them. The only sound in the night was the wind. It was as if the mountains themselves were sighing. Nothing stirred in their peaks. Trevelyan knew the utter solitude seemed daunting to many within the Inquisition, but now, as quiet moments passed, it felt protective, peaceful. These mountains, and even Skyhold itself, had stood tall throughout the test of time, and their strength seemed to hang in the air, a tangible substance that Trevelyan could feel with every breath she took.

 

            Trevelyan caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and she turned her head. Leliana walked up to her. The spymaster’s cowl was down, her red hair pale in the low light. Her usual chainmail and armor was absent, allowing her to move quietly in the night. She nodded to Trevelyan, taking her place by the rogue’s side. Trevelyan smiled, shuffling closer, brushing their arms together and taking Leliana’s hand in hers.

 

            “When I was younger,” Trevelyan started, voice hushed, “and I couldn’t sleep, I used to sneak out onto the roof. I’d make up constellations. Sometimes I’d fall asleep up there – it always gave my maid quite a fright, in the morning.” Trevelyan shook her head with a short laugh. Her childhood in Ostwick seemed so distant now, like it had been someone else’s life. She knew that of all the stories and heroes she had drawn in the stars, none of them compared with the journey she had been through these past months. “There was just something about the night, about the stars…” Trevelyan trailed off with a shrug.

 

            Leliana nodded, glancing up at the dark sky to where the stars shone above. “There’s a peacefulness to the night, as if it’s a reprieve for the troubles of the day before, and the day to come.” Leliana knew that feeling was an illusion. Danger still lurked, even in the nighttime. But perhaps there was little harm in indulging in the façade from time to time, in stealing away an opportunity to lay down the burdens of the day.

 

            “Mmm.” Trevelyan hummed in agreement. She leaned closer to the spymaster, following her gaze to stare up at the twinkling night sky.

 

            They stood like that for a long while, silent, their breath misting as it met the chill air. Each were lost in their own thoughts.

 

            “It’s odd,” Trevelyan spoke at last, voice low. “I don’t feel afraid of the upcoming battle. It’s going to be our most difficult fight yet. We don’t even know what all awaits us in the Arbor Wilds. Everything we’ve worked so hard for is riding on the outcome of this battle. Even so…” Trevelyan’s eyes found the scar in the sky from the Breach, visible even in the darkness. “Even so, I’m not afraid.”

 

            Leliana turned, looking at the rogue next to her. Trevelyan’s skin was lit with the silver glow of the moon. The line of her jaw was set determinedly, her gaze soft but steady, and a small, resolute smile graced her lips. To see her now, there was no mistaking that this woman was the Inquisitor, a steadfast leader. She looked almost ethereal, and Leliana was reminded of her other title – the Herald of Andraste. It was a title she fully embodied now.

 

            “‘Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder,’” Leliana quoted. The Chant of Light verse seemed fitting, given what lay ahead.

 

            Trevelyan’s smile flattened, and her gaze clouded with a faraway look. “‘Though darkness closes, I am shielded by flame. Andraste, guide me. Maker, take me to your side.’” She shook her head, turning to Leliana, eyes searching the redhead’s face. “When Dorian and I traveled forward in time back at Redcliffe Castle, that’s what you – what that Leliana said, before…before she sacrificed herself.” The corner of her mouth quirked up in a lopsided grin that lacked any mirth. “I like your verse better.”

 

            “I do too,” Leliana said. She wrapped an arm around Trevelyan’s waist, drawing the other woman closer, resting her cheek against Trevelyan’s hair. “What you saw in that future didn’t happen, and it won’t. We’ve come a long way since Redcliffe.”

 

            Trevelyan let out a slow sigh. She was silent a moment, reliving the memory. “I made a promise, to that Leliana, that I’d stop Corypheus and restore order to Thedas,” she said softly, looking back up at the stars. “And I will. We’re so _close_ now.” Her words were spoken with a sort of quiet desperation, but the next were nothing but pure determination. Fire settled in her veins. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

 

            _I know you will,_ Leliana thought with a small, worried frown. _That’s what I’m afraid of._ Leliana felt a stab of fear in her gut as she remembered the aftermath of Haven, when Trevelyan had said something similar. Trevelyan was stronger now, the Inquisition was stronger now, but the danger was just as intense as it had been then – perhaps more so now, with their enemy backed into a corner with nothing to lose.

 

            “You made a promise to me as well,” Leliana said. At that, Trevelyan turned, looking up at her with raised brows, waiting for her to go on. Leliana moved to take the rogue’s hands in her own. “At Adamant. You said –”

 

            “I’d always come back to you.” Trevelyan nodded, her eyes serious. “I remember,” she murmured, threading her fingers through Leliana’s and giving her hands a comforting squeeze.

 

            Leliana felt such a strong surge of affection it made her chest ache. “I need to know, if forced to make a choice,” Leliana’s voice broke, but she continued on. “I need to know which promise you’ll keep.” So many people that had been important to her had left her before – Marjolaine, the Hero of Fereldan, Justinia. Leliana had survived each loss. But Trevelyan – Trevelyan wasn’t someone she could lose.

 

            “Leliana…” Trevelyan gazed at the spymaster, feeling a lump form in her throat. The anguish written so clearly across her lover’s face was heartbreaking. Leliana had suffered so much, both in this war and before. The thought of doing anything to add to that pain was unbearable. But so was the thought of letting the world slip into Corypheus’ hands. She’d seen what that had done to Thedas, to Leliana. “I…”

 

            “After Haven fell, when we thought you were dead,” Leliana said, nearly choking on the last word. “I- we were lost without you. And then when you came back, only to say you’d do it again…” Leliana faltered, closing her eyes and shaking her head, remembering her anger, her fear. “You were so ready to be the one to sacrifice. You still are.”

 

            “I’m the Inquisitor,” Trevelyan protested gently. “It’s my duty to-”

 

            Leliana opened her eyes and fixed Trevelyan with a sharp look. “Yes, you are the Inquisitor, but no, sacrifice is not your ‘duty.’” She brought her hands up to cup the rogue’s face, her fingers tracing light patterns over her skin. Trevelyan’s breath ghosted across her wrists, sending a pleasant shudder down her spine. “Your duty, Inquisitor, is to lead us, which you would be hard-pressed to do from the grave. The fight to restore order doesn’t end with Corypheus’ death, and the rebuilding that will follow after this war is over will be every bit as vital. So I need you to promise me that come what may, you will return to us.” She took a step closer to the other woman. “Thedas doesn’t need a martyr – it needs you for what comes next, Trevelyan,” she insisted. “ _I_ need you. I want – I want you to come to Val Royeaux with me, if I am to become the next Divine.”

 

            Trevelyan’s eyes widened, and it was then that Leliana noticed that there were tears in them. She felt her stomach twist into knots, unsure of what the reaction meant. “Trevelyan…”

 

            A single tear broke free and trailed down Trevelyan’s cheek. Leliana smoothed it away with her thumb. In the ensuing silence, Leliana was hyper aware of every shaky breath Trevelyan took, of the warmth of her beneath Leliana’s fingertips, of the way the wan moonlight brought out her freckles. Every detail was drawn in stark relief.

 

            “I don’t want to wear any of those ridiculous masks,” Trevelyan said finally, her words rushing together, voice slightly raw. “And I get to wear my armor, my real armor, not some frilly ceremonial outfit. And I reserve the right to knock heads together, if I find any that are too full of hot air – which, given that it’s Orlais, I _will-_ ”

 

            Leliana let out a choked sound, a mix between a laugh and a sob. “Then…?” She trailed off, so hopeful it was almost painful.

 

            Trevelyan smiled, small but true. “No desperate heroics that leave me falling on the pointy end of a sword. I promise, Leliana. I promise I’ll come back. And then…” A blush spread across her cheeks, and her smile grew into an elated grin. “And then we can talk about Val Royeaux.”

 

            Leliana leaned down, pressing her lips against Trevelyan’s in a slow, searing kiss. Trevelyan brought a hand up behind Leliana’s neck, the other clutching at the fabric of the spymaster’s shirt.

 

            “I love you,” Leliana murmured against Trevelyan’s mouth. “Despite your atrocious and poorly-timed sense of humor.”

 

            Trevelyan laughed. “And I love you,” she replied, angling so she could press kisses against Leliana’s jaw. “Despite your not appreciating my attempt at levity.”

 

            She pulled away, and Leliana sighed at the loss of contact. Trevelyan watched her with a look that was suddenly earnest. The rogue bit her lip, searching for the right words. “Thank you. For…for showing me what was right, when I couldn’t see it for myself.”

 

            Leliana was buffeted with a wave of emotion at the familiar words. She was about to respond when a gust of chill wind rustled around them, causing Trevelyan to shiver.

 

            “It’s cold. And late,” Leliana said with a hint of reluctance. “You should go to bed.”

 

            “Come with me?” Trevelyan invited with an endearingly shy smile, eyes shining with feeling. Leliana couldn’t deny those eyes.

 

            They walked back, arm in arm, Trevelyan grinning and pointing out the constellations that she remembered from her childhood. A sense of calm, of hope, hung in the night air – a reprieve that they both had sorely needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter took so long, but here it is now! I'm not sure quite how I feel about it, I've written and rewritten it a few different ways - so let me know what you think :) I really wanted to highlight Trevelyan's character growth since Haven, so hopefully that showed through.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Temple of Mythal, and returning home

            The Arbor Wilds was beautiful – definitely one of the more scenic battlefields Trevelyan had stepped foot on. She had been expecting a dark woods, roaming feral wildlife…something cryptic, given that they were walking in the ruins of an ancient elven civilization. The streaming sunlight, the lush forest, the glimpses of stony remnants of elven architecture; the Wilds almost felt serene, like an oasis. Trevelyan felt a prickle of guilt for dragging the war here, to a place that by all rights deserved rest.

 

            Her party had been following a shallow creek for – Trevelyan glanced up at the sun, now halfway through its cycle through the sky – a few hours, running into Red Templars and Inquisition scouts every so often. For the time being, however, their surroundings were peaceful, though faint sounds of battle echoed through the forest from somewhere in the distance.

 

            They pressed ever forward, fanning out slightly. Solas was at the front, leading the way, and Trevelyan wondered if it was his acute hearing that allowed him to pinpoint the sounds of battle ahead easier than a human, or if his dreamwalking in the Fade had taken him to the Temple of Mythal before. But his jaw was clenched tight, his mouth a thin line and his eyes dark with a fierce emotion that might have been sorrow or fury, and Trevelyan knew that whatever the truth was, for now it was his secret to keep. Blackwall had fallen to the left, his gaze thoughtful as he scanned the area, hand resting on the pommel of his sheathed sword. Cassandra had taken to the right, walking along the edge of the creek, expression sharp as the drawn sword in her hand. Trevelyan took up the rear, with Morrigan at her side. So far, the witch had alternated between matter-of-fact explanations of Eluvians and the dire consequences that could result if Corypheus got his hands on one, and making pithy comments. But despite her general sarcastic (that was being generous – caustic was more accurate) personality, Morrigan had proven a valuable asset, both in her knowledge of the arcane and her combat skills. However poorly they came off, Morrigan had good intentions, and that was enough for Trevelyan.

 

            “You have been curiously silent for quite some time, Inquisitor. ‘Tis most disconcerting, considering your usual manner.” Morrigan’s voice severed her train of thought.

 

            Trevelyan quirked a brow at _that_ comment, turning to the witch, whose amber eyes were watching her intently. “If that’s your way of admitting you enjoy speaking with me, then… thanks?” Trevelyan replied lightly, unable to keep the teasing lilt out of her voice.

 

            Morrigan rolled her eyes, turning her attention to the path ahead. “Perhaps I shall leave you to your silence.” She did not directly refute Trevelyan’s statement, which caused Trevelyan to grin, though she tried her best to hold it back for the sake of Morrigan’s pride. She was fairly sure if it wasn’t true, the witch would let her know in no uncertain terms, Trevelyan’s Inquisitor title and the deference it usually instilled in others be damned.

 

            “No, go on,” Trevelyan encouraged, curious now. “If you have something you wish to say, speak freely.” Frankly, if nothing else Trevelyan could use the distraction. Her fingers were beginning to itch for her daggers, her nerves on edge with knowing that the Inquisition troops were engaged in battle and she was not in the heat of the fray with them.

 

            “Very well.” The two walked a few more steps in silence. Just as Trevelyan was about to comment on the witch’s hesitance, she spoke again, not looking at Trevelyan as she did so. “We are about to engage in what is likely to be the hardest fought battle your Inquisition has faced thus far, going up against a dangerous fool who thinks himself a god. I simply wish to know who it is I am fighting beside. And before you counter with some glib rejoinder,” she said, glancing at Trevelyan with a cocked brow. Trevelyan shut her mouth from where she’d been about to do just that. “I seek an honest answer.” Morrigan’s tone was carefully neutral, in a way that Trevelyan had learned meant she was attempting to seem inoffensive, despite the slightly rude cut to her words.

 

            “That’s…fair.” Trevelyan turned the rather ambiguous question around in her mind, unsure of how to begin to tackle it. “Though information has a way of traveling in Skyhold, I’d expect you’ve heard a great deal already.” Trevelyan figured there was precious little that went on in the walls of their fortress that went unnoticed, which was an unnerving thought for several reasons.

 

            Morrigan chuckled wryly. “Ah, yes. I have heard…a great deal, ‘tis true.” Her dark lips twisted into a small smirk, and Trevelyan wondered what exactly people were saying. She felt a blush creep across her cheeks. “But I for one prefer to get my information from its direct source. I place no stock in rumors and whispers, unlike your beloved spymaster.”

 

            Trevelyan just barely refrained from rolling her eyes at the sniped comment. “Information from a ‘direct source’ is a luxury,” she replied, a thinly veiled warning for the witch to watch her words more carefully if she wanted the conversation to continue.

 

            Morrigan was not deterred. Her amber eyes studied the rogue, smirk remaining. “So protective,” she murmured, her voice carrying a note of wonder. She looked away with a shake of her head. “How fitting you are for one another.” The remark was softly spoken, as if it was more a thought spoken aloud than said for Trevelyan’s sake.

 

            They walked in silence, both gathering their thoughts. It was Trevelyan who spoke first.

 

            “It’s funny – I almost didn’t go to the Conclave, all those months ago,” Trevelyan started, thinking back, a rueful little twist to her lips that couldn’t quite be called a smile. “My parents wanted to send Maxwell, my older brother. I am… something of an enigma to my family. I do not share their fondness of the Chantry, and I did not become a Templar as they’d hoped. The Trevelyans are a pious folk, so they weren’t quite sure what to do with me after that. But in the end, Maxwell had Templar duties, my aunt was hosting a ball in the Divine’s honor that my parents were obligated to attend. I promised to be on my best behavior and off I went.”

 

Trevelyan’s path to the Inquisition had been so tenuous, so guided by happenstance. If anything had happened differently, she would likely still be in Ostwick. “Maxwell would’ve been a good Inquisitor. He loves the sound of his own voice, always has.” She continued, grinning, but the thought of her brother filled her with a bittersweet feeling. Had he survived throughout all this, and if he had, was he different now? His Templar training had already changed him, slowly, subtly, but surely. Ever since what happened in Kirkwall, when a mage had blown up the Chantry there and incited citywide violence, there had been a coldness in her brother, something sharp and distrusting resting under his surface. “Likely a less forgiving one, though.”

 

            Morrigan listened to all of this quietly, expression remaining, if not neutral, then unreadable. At Trevelyan’s last comment, she arched a brow. “Indeed, that seems to be your defining trait.” Trevelyan sent her a questioning look, and she continued. “You have proven a most magnanimous leader, to your allies, to your enemies, and to all those who lie somewhere between those extremes. Perhaps because such a disposition is in short supply, it draws rather zealous flocks to your cause. To you.” Morrigan wrinkled her nose, as if saying something so lacking in her usual sarcasm and acridity left an unpleasant taste in her mouth.

 

            “I suppose that’s one way to look at it,” Trevelyan said. She had never thought too deeply about the matter. The Inquisition had a cause that resonated with people (or at least, eventually did so, she thought as she recalled the Inquisition’s earlier troubles). She may be the figurehead, but surely she was not the cause itself.

 

            “There is another?” Morrigan asked, probing. There was some knowledge in particular the witch was after, but Trevelyan was unsure what it was.

 

            Trevelyan sighed. “Thedas is tearing itself apart. The Breach, the fade rifts, Corypheus and his army… They are only the latest threats – though they’ve proven to be great ones,” Trevelyan added sardonically. She gazed out at the tree line, noting that she could just make out a massive shape beyond the greenery. The Temple, perhaps? They were getting close. “The Mage-Templar war was stoked by the Chantry’s long-harsh rhetoric and tight leashes on both groups. Then there’s the distrust between humans and elves, dwarves, qunari.” Trevelyan shook her head, frowning. Her hands tightened into fists at her side, though she didn’t notice. “The Inquisition is fighting for peace, but historically, peace has been something that has eluded Thedas for a long time. We will achieve it, however,” Trevelyan vowed, shaking herself out of the gloom that her thoughts had turned towards. “It will be a difficult fight, but we will win. And _that_ is what draws people to the Inquisition.”

 

            “A Herald indeed,” Morrigan remarked, sounding deep in thought. They walked in silence, the Temple looming closer. Just as Trevelyan thought their conversation was over, Morrigan turned back to her, an earnest seriousness in her expression that Trevelyan was taken aback by. “Inquisitor, as one who was raised an apostate, I must know – why did you choose to aid the mages? In a quest for peace, such a decision seems…puzzling. I wonder, how did the mages come to find such a fervent ally in you?”

 

            So this was the answer the witch was after. Trevelyan was hardly surprised at her wariness – sympathy for mages was almost nonexistant. She wanted an assurance, something more personal than the abstract hope for peace.

 

            “When I was a teenager, my uncle executed a mage at a ball.” Trevelyan closed her eyes. Even after all this time, she could still remember the night in vivid detail. She spoke past the rising lump in her throat. “She was the daughter of a nearby noble who’d apparently been hiding her magic, afraid of the Circle. She was the same age as me, and I remember thinking the green of her dress so nicely complimented her eyes.” Trevelyan gave a rueful chuckle, opening her eyes. “She was laughing right before the Templars came in, but the second she saw them the blood drained from her face. She was so frightened, she set off a fire spell that caught the drapery aflame, along with the tunic of some noble.” Trevelyan looked away, jaw clenching. “My uncle, a Templar Commander, cut her down for the alleged attack. And it’s so stupid, but what I remember most…” the brunette trailed off, shaking her head.

 

            Morrigan was silent next to her, and eventually the Inquisitor continued, voice choked.

 

            “I remember that I’d been on my way to ask her to dance. Maker.” Her eyes, dark with long-fermented anger, connected with Morrigan’s. “And the worst of it was that, after she was struck down, people started clapping. What a world we live in, when the murder of children gets the applause of the people.” She turned away, gritting her teeth. “And that is why I support the mages, and will continue to do so. Such cruelty must be stopped, if we are to have peace.”

 

            “So it is true. You seek to end the Circles.” Morrigan’s voice, usually so stoic, had a hint of – was that hope?

 

             Trevelyan shook her head. She could hear shouting and the sound of metal clashing, which meant they must be nearing a fight. The party rounded a copse of trees, and ahead of them Solas’ staff crackled with magic, Cassandra hefting her shield and charging forward with a shout. They’d sighted enemies.

 

              She paused, flicking her gaze back to Morrigan. “I am no mage, and as such I will not make decisions regarding their future for them. If they wish to abolish the Circles, then they will have the Inquisition’s support.” Trevelyan shrugged. It was a question for the future, a future they still had to win from Corypheus’ grip. “But enough talk. Let’s go kick some Red Templar ass.” She shot the witch a battle-hungry grin, feeling her blood pumping faster in anticipation for the battle.

              Morrigan rolled her eyes at the rogue’s exuberance but readied her staff. “Lead the way and I shall follow, Inquisitor.”

 

* * *

 

            The battle was quick and simple. With the combined forces of the Inquisition scouts that had previously been engaging the enemy and the Inquisitor’s party, the Red Templars were outnumbered and outmatched. Afterwards, wiping the blood off her daggers before sheathing them and with a brief word with the scouts, Trevelyan led the party forward, into the Temple.

 

            The first thing Trevelyan noticed was the eerie stillness. The air inside the Temple felt wrong somehow, heavy and unmoving as death. As they moved along the entrance’s short path that led to steps down to the Temple’s outer courtyard, Trevelyan paused. The body of a Red Templar was doubled over the stairs’ railing, pierced with a multitude of arrows. Corypheus had breached the Temple’s walls, she realized, a cold dread filling her chest.

 

            Movement caught her eye, and Trevelyan turned to her companions, pressing a finger to her lips in a silent signal for caution. They snuck forward to the railing, overlooking the courtyard. There stood Samson, Corypheus, and a few of his remaining men, bearing the wounds of a recent battle. And in front of them, standing guard over a bridge that looked like it led to the Temple’s interior, were a dozen or so elves, bows raised threateningly. One of them, the sole mage of the group, spat what sounded like an angry warning in Elvhen.

 

            “They still think to fight us, Master,” Samson said mockingly, eyeing them.

 

            Corypheus strode forward. “They are but remnants. They will not keep us from the Well of Sorrows.”

 

            _The Well of what?_ Trevelyan glanced over at Morrigan, who had crept to her side in order to watch the scene unfold. The mage acknowledged her questioning look with a shrug and a shake of her head. Perhaps she could ask Solas.

 

            As Corypheus neared the bridge, the pillars that marked the bridge’s beginning glowed a faint, shocking blue, probably the last vestiges of ancient magic.

 

            Though she couldn’t see it, Trevelyan imagined Corypheus sneered down at the elves as he said, “Be honored. Witness death at the hands of a new god.”

 

            When he stepped onto the bridge, the pillars pulsed, shuddering as if coming alive, and shot out powerful bolts of arcane magic. Corypheus flinched, his step slowing. Trevelyan could just make out the elven mage staring in awe or horror one, watching as Corypheus squared his shoulders and took slow steps forward. In a quick motion, he wrapped a hand around the mage’s neck, yanking him up. The elf didn’t struggle, didn’t so much as twitch in the grip. Trevelyan watched, tense, daggers ready, as Corypheus held his quarry aloft. After a heart-stopping moment, a scream of agony split the air. Trevelyan was on her feet in an instant, head spinning at the rapid movement.

 

            She needn’t have bothered. The scream wasn’t the elf’s, but Corypheus’ own. Before her eyes, the former magister seemed to grow smaller, as if he was…melting? The elf dropped to the ground, scurrying back, and there was a large explosion as the bridge’s pillars blew apart. Dust clouded the air, a stiff and ominous silence settling in its wake.

 

            “Let’s go,” Trevelyan said, hopping over the railing and letting herself fall to the ground below.

 

            There was no trace of Corypheus’ body, save a large scorch mark on the tiles of the bridge. It couldn’t be so easy, Trevelyan wondered, could it? Could he really be gone, just like that, his pride leading him at last to his death, at the hands of the ancient magic he thought to brutalize and control? It would be fitting, if anticlimactic.

 

            Whatever trap Corypheus had triggered had been the last of the bridge’s defenses, and Samson had used the opportunity to cross over and enter the Temple’s looming door. He paused, shooting her a derogatory wave and a shit-eating grin before ducking inside, a handful of Red Templars following.

 

            A low groan sounded behind her, and she turned with a frown. The corpse of one of Corypheus’ men was… shifting?

 

            “What in the Maker’s name…?” Cassandra muttered from Trevelyan’s right.

 

            As they watched, transfixed, what looked like black blood spewed from the corpse’s mouth. _Is that…the taint?_ Trevelyan wondered, noting the corpse’s Grey Warden armor. Was the Blight seizing control of his body? She had heard tales of walking corpses before, but had never seen one.

 

            The body crumpled and cracked, as if it was merely a husk being shed by a monster within. Something was clawing its way out, something…something that looked like –

 

            Corypheus.

 

            “It cannot be!” Morrigan’s exclamation sounded feeble to her ears, as if she were hearing it from a great distance.

 

            Trevelyan’s mind started racing. “Everyone, across the bridge. Now!”

 

            She paused, letting her companions take point. She hated retreating – it seemed like every time she came face to face with the former magister, it was only long enough to turn tail and flee. But how could she fight someone who could not be killed? So, quelling the reckless tug in her chest that urged her to stay, she turned and ran.

 

* * *

 

            The path through the Temple had been more winding than Trevelyan had expected. They had caught up to Samson and his forces, only to have him blow a hole in the floor and jump down into the recesses of the ruins. Trevelyan hadn’t followed, instead opting to stay and complete what Morrigan and Solas suggested were ancient elven rituals, walking paths around shrines and fountains that long ago had been walked by Mythal’s faithful.

 

            Cassandra had protested, but Trevelyan had rejoined that if they were going to trespass in a sacred elven temple in order to use what was likely a sacred elven object, they were at the very least going to pay their respects first. ( _“It’s stealing otherwise,” she had said, and when Cassandra pointed out that any of the faithful – any of the gods – were long dead, Trevelyan shook her head resolutely. “Stealing. If we did that, we would be no different from Corypheus. And we are better than that.” Solas had watched their exchange silently, expression stoic and not betraying any of his thoughts on the matter._ )

 

            When they had finally finished the rites, snaking their way around statues and murals of Arlathan depicting glimpses into an ancient world that Trevelyan could not decipher, they had unlocked one of the Temple’s inner rooms. There, they had come face to face with a dozen or so ancient elves. Their leader, Abelas, had explained that they were sentinels, guardians tasked with the sole purpose of keeping the power of the Well out of trespassers’ hands – trespassers such as Corypheus, such as the Inquisition. After a strained conversation, Abelas had conceded that they had at least paid respects to Mythal, and had offered them the choice of aid with the understanding that after they fought their enemies, they would leave. Trevelyan readily accepted.

 

            But then Abelas had made the cryptic comment that he would not allow the Well to be despoiled, even if that meant its destruction. Much to her dismay, with a cry of alarm Morrigan had pursued the elf as he ran off.

 

            All of that had led them here, path up to the Well in sight, having caught up to Samson and his men at last.

 

            “Inquisitor,” he greeted as they ran up, his dark eyes sliding to the elves that accompanied them. “You and those elf-things don’t know when to stop.”

 

            “I could say the same for you, Samson,” she shot back, hands resting on her hips, lips curving slightly. “Though if you’d like to stop, we’ll accept your surrender now.”

 

            Samson scoffed. “And throw ourselves at the mercy of the Inquisition? No thanks.” He turned his back on her and looking up at the Well. “I am Corypheus’ general, and now his Vessel for the knowledge that lies within the Well of Sorrows. Once I give this knowledge to Corypheus, he will be able to walk into the Fade without your precious Anchor.” He turned back to her with a challenging glare.

 

            “And then Corypheus will have no use for a Vessel or a general. Or an army.” Out of the corner of her eye, Trevelyan could see her companions shifting behind her, anxious for the fight Samson would no doubt give them. “You are a tool, and after you have served your purpose, he will cast you aside.”

 

            Samson snarled, stepping forward. “You dare say that to my face? After you butchered my men?” _Your men were butchering the world, and they would butcher everyone in it,_ Trevelyan thought, but held her tongue. Samson continued, his anger morphing into a malicious bravado. “You are no match for Corypheus. Even if you were to drink from the Well, you could never match him.” Samson spread his arms wide, activating the magic of his red lyrium armor. “Witness the strength he granted me. Witness the strength of a new god.”

 

            Trevelyan reached into the small pack hanging off her belt, holding up the device that Dagna, the Inquisition’s arcanist, had constructed. It activated, its insignia glowing red to match Samson’s armor. A scarlet-tinted gust swirled around the former Templar, his armor clinking and, with a loud clunk, neutralizing. Maker, that was simple. Dagna deserved a raise.

 

            “Yes, very impressive, Samson,” she quipped dryly.

 

            He screamed, buckling to his knees. “What did you do? _What did you do?!_ ”

 

            “I ‘witnessed the strength of a new god.’ Underwhelming, to be honest.” Trevelyan watched the warrior struggle to his feet, his face, against all odds, even paler than it had been before. Dagna’s device had cut off his armor’s lyrium supply, and being the long-time addict he was, Samson was already suffering the effects. Trevelyan felt a stab of pity.

 

            She opened her mouth to offer another chance for surrender, but Samson spoke first, his voice wheezy but filled with rage. “Kill them all!”

 

            Trevelyan supposed it had been naïve, to have expected their encounter to go any other way. She unsheathed her daggers, backing away and scanning the battlefield’s terrain and enemy defenses quickly. Cassandra bellowed, surging forward to bash her shield against the nearest Red Templar. Blackwall followed her lead, though he entered the fray with a touch more caution. Solas, staff crackling with magic, retreated up the stairs for a better vantage point, casting a barrier spell as he went. The elves disappeared in a puff of smoke, every so often materializing for just long enough to fire off a round of arrows.

 

            Despite their sparse numbers, Samson’s men fought fiercely, with brutal raw strength. Trevelyan weaved around them, striking their flanks and back when they were exposed. By now, the movement was familiar, their party having long ago solidified their strategy. Warriors charged in, creating havoc and destruction in the enemy lines, rogues employed stealth to pick off open targets, mages offered support from a distance. Basic, but tried and true.

 

            Trevelyan flicked the blood off her daggers, circling wide around the fray. The elves appeared again, filling a Red Templar’s chest with arrows. It doubled over, and Trevelyan rushed in, sinking her twin daggers deep into its back and finishing it off. It slumped to the ground, and placing a foot squarely on its back, Trevelyan yanked her daggers free.

 

            She turned, retreating back, to assess the battle. Samson only had three men remaining, though two of them had changed their shape, red lyrium magic having transformed them into powerful abominations. Cassandra and Blackwall, fighting back to back, were taking on all three. As she watched, Solas cast a cold spell, partially freezing one that had attempted to flank Blackwall.

 

            Which left Samson. The warrior was making his way towards her, a look of murder on his face despite the fact that arrows were protruding from his back and blood was dripping down his left arm. Trevelyan took a few steps backward, gaze swinging left and right, planning the trajectory of her escape. There was a tree to her right, which cut off that route, and Samson was already veering to cut off her left. Trevelyan’s heart skipped a beat when her back collided with the wall.

 

            _Shit_ , Trevelyan cursed internally. She was boxed in, the wall to her back. She would either have to take her chances and try to evade and circle around Samson, who was leagues faster than she had expected in his heavy armor, or she’d have to engage him head-on. Both options seemed equally risky.

 

            She was tired of running, Trevelyan thought, squaring her shoulders and meeting Samson’s beady gaze challengingly.

 

            “You think you can match me?” Samson sneered. The sickly pallor of his skin and the menacing quirk of his lips gave him an almost monstrous appearance as he stared down at her.

 

            “I do,” Trevelyan said simply, words laced with conviction and calm determination. She would not only match Samson, she would best him, because she had to. As Inquisitor, she had sworn to protect Thedas from the forces that threatened it. And beyond her title, as just simply _Trevelyan_ , she had sworn to Leliana that she’d come back in one piece. “Prepare yourself, Samson. It ends here.” As if in response to her words, the Anchor on her hand sparked with a green fire.

 

            Samson’s eyes widened, and for a fraction of a second there was an emotion that Trevelyan might’ve called fear writ large there. Before she could be sure, though, the former Templar threw back his head and laughed. “Hah! Well-said last words, Inquisitor. I shall enjoy being the one to cut you down.”

 

            And with that, their stalemate was over. Samson lifted his large broadsword, magic crackling like red lightning along its blade. Trevelyan tensed, shifting her weight to her toes, grip tightening reflexively around her daggers. Samson lashed out, a mighty horizontal slash that Trevelyan ducked low to avoid. She kicked viciously at his leg, but his stance only gave an inch. When she rose back up, she managed a quick, glancing blow to his side. He retaliated by slamming the pommel of his sword into her shoulder, causing her to stumble back, falling to one knee.

 

            Trevelyan gritted her teeth, twirling her daggers. Samson raised his sword high above his head, and Trevelyan waited, waited, until a breath before the last moment and rolled away. The blow whistled past her ear, the blade striking deep into the earth not a foot away.

            The rogue leapt up. Samson pulled back to strike again, slower this time. After a split second of indecision, Trevelyan used the chance to charge forward, knowing that retreating would mean losing distance that Samson would now be wary enough to prevent her from regaining. They clashed in a flurry of movement. Trevelyan ended up with one dagger pressed to the crook of Samson’s neck, the other pinned to her chest as she strained to hold back Samson’s broadsword, whose blade was stopped a scant inch from her.

 

            “You’re nothing,” Samson muttered from behind clenched teeth. He poured all his strength into his stalled strike, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “You hear me? You are insignificant!”

 

            Trevelyan wavered, muscles in her arm screaming, sweat beading on her face. “It doesn’t matter what I am. What matters is that I _will_ stop Corypheus.” With a grunt, she pushed back on the blade over her chest just enough to give her some maneuvering room, and plunged her free dagger into a spot a few inches below Samson’s right shoulder. A crippling blow, one that caused his grip on his broadsword to loosen, but ultimately one that was not fatal.

 

            Trevelyan gave the dagger a twist before letting go. Samson screamed, and with his distraction Trevelyan pushed his sword aside, smashing her elbow into Samson’s wrist. He swore and dropped his sword, sweeping an arm out and shoving her back.

 

            “Samson,” she said, approaching him cautiously. He was obviously spent, but still he snarled, advancing on her. Trevelyan reacted on instinct, slamming her fist into his jaw. With a grunt, he staggered back, falling to his knees.

 

            “Samson,” Trevelyan tried again, coming to stand over the fallen man. “It’s over.” She cast a glance past him. “Your men are defeated. It’s time to surrender.” In a show of good faith, she reached out a hand to him.

 

            Samson raised his head, eyes trailing from her hand up to her face. Grimacing, he gripped the dagger lodged in his shoulder and pulled it free with a forceful tug. Trevelyan winced.

 

            “You…really don’t know when to stop,” he rasped. Trevelyan was partway through a laugh when he lunged. She managed to take a step back, but it wasn’t enough. She hissed as her own dagger bit through the fleshy part of her side. Luckily, it didn’t find purchase in anything vital, but Maker, it was painful even so.

 

            “Inquisitor!” The next thing she knew, a shield bashed the side of Samson’s head. He went down noiselessly, splayed unconscious on the ground. Cassandra stood over him with a dark expression, her eyes wild and nostrils flaring.

 

            Trevelyan brought a hand up to the wound in her side, flinching. It wasn’t too deep, at the very least. A violent annoyance, but ultimately not a hindrance. Trevelyan took her hand away, fingers coated in blood, to rearrange her leather armor, tugging it over the gash to hide it from view.

 

            “We’ll leave him here, and have our scouts bring him back to Skyhold for judgement,” Trevelyan said, addressing the raven-haired warrior.

 

            Cassandra frowned, eyeing Trevelyan’s side. “You are injured. We should-”

 

            Trevelyan shook her head. “We need to find Morrigan and the Well, before Corypheus does,” she insisted. When the Seeker hesitated, Trevelyan smiled lightly and pressed on gently. “I appreciate your concern, but it’s not serious, Cassandra. More of a petty last spit in my face than anything else. Stings, though,” she admitted with a grimace.

 

            Cassandra nodded, still frowning. “Very well. But after we find this Well of Sorrows,” she spoke of the Well distastefully, “then we will see to your wound.” Upon Trevelyan’s assent, she fished a potion out of her pack and offered it to the rogue. “Take this. For the stinging.”

 

            Trevelyan took it, smiling in gratitude. “Thank you.”

 

            Cassandra smiled slightly in return, though the apprehension didn’t leave her face. “Lead the way, Inquisitor.”

 

* * *

 

            When they’d reached the Well, they found Morrigan and Abelas engaged in a standoff. Abelas had been set on destroying the Well, but had eventually relented, leaving with a warning that whoever drank from the Well would be bound to the service of Mythal, just as he had been.

 

            Morrigan told her the Well held both price and power. Even though she knew the Inquisition needed the Well, if only to keep it from Corypheus’ grasping fingers, still she hesitated, staring into the eyes of her reflection in the pooled water.

 

            Morrigan offered, not for the first time, to be the one to drink from it. Trevelyan had turned to her, seen the desperate longing in her eyes. She _wanted_ it, Trevelyan realized, regardless of the price. She wanted it, and Trevelyan didn’t. So she had stepped aside, and Morrigan strode into the water.

 

            Trevelyan now regretted that decision. A mist rose around the witch, and after a moment a powerful gust buffeted them, knocking everyone off their feet. Trevelyan sat up, looking towards the now-dry Well, seeing Morrigan lying unconscious there.

 

            “Morrigan!” Trevelyan cried out in alarm, stumbling to her feet and then running over to the witch’s side. Fear spiked through her chest. After all the witch had done in aid to the Inquisition, the thought of her falling now, another sacrifice in Trevelyan’s name – Trevelyan’s jaw tightened.

 

            Morrigan stirred, much to Trevelyan’s relief. She muttered something in Elvhen, sitting up, massaging her temples. Trevelyan held out her hand, and Morrigan blinked at it, amber eyes flicking up to Trevelyan’s face. She seemed…surprised? But before Trevelyan could begin to wonder at that, the witch took her hand. Trevelyan helped her to her feet.

 

            “I…I am intact.” She sounded dazed, but otherwise appeared fine, and when she took them her steps were steady. “There is much to sift through, but now we can-”

 

            “First, Morrigan, how do you _feel_?” Trevelyan insisted, interrupting. Trevelyan knew she was overprotective of her companions ( _“You fuss like a mother hen,” Cassandra had remarked dryly once, after their party had been ambushed by a horde of quillbacks in the Hissing Wastes and the warrior had sustained a moderate flesh wound_.), but she couldn’t help it. The witch had just used a dangerous ancient artifact, after all, so a little concern was called for.

 

            Morrigan turned back to her, brow quirked, smirking slightly. “Fret not, Inquisitor. I possess the knowledge we require. Much more, in fact.”

 

            Trevelyan frowned. “That’s not what I-”

 

            She was cut off before she could finish her sentence.

 

            “Inquisitor!” Cassandra called out, her voice sharp with alarm. “We are not alone!”

 

            Trevelyan whipped around to face the Seeker, who gestured towards the Temple’s entrance. There, making his way inside, was Corypheus. Trevelyan was too far away to make out his facial expression, but she could tell the moment he noticed it was them at the Well and not Samson. His broad shoulders stiffened, clawed hands clenching into fists. With a guttural scream of rage that echoed throughout the ruins, he took to the air and flew towards them.

 

            Trevelyan’s hands went to her daggers of their own accord, her grip tightening around them until her knuckles whitened. For a moment she stood perfectly still, her blood pounding in her ears. How she’d like to finally fight him, here and now. She’d already run once from him today. But…

 

            A hand rested on her shoulder, and she broke out of her thoughts, turning. Blackwall stood next to her, expression grave but dark eyes understanding. “Inquisitor, I know you seek vengeance. We all do. But we have to go. You saw what happened before, outside the Temple. We will prevail and take this bastard down, but another day.”

 

            His words rang with sincerity, and Trevelyan nodded, knowing he was right. She glanced back at Corypheus, who had closed at least a third of the distance between them. They had to move quickly.

 

            “The Eluvian!” Morrigan supplied urgently. Tendrils of blue magic encircled her hands, and with a wave of her arm the Eluvian activated, glowing with the same light.

 

            “Everyone, through the mirror! Now!” Trevelyan ordered. As the party sprang into action, her and Blackwall sprinting side by side and bringing up the rear, she added, voice lower, “Thank you.”

 

            The bearded warrior nodded. “Of course,” he replied in between ragged breaths. Ahead of them, Morrigan, Cassandra, then Solas disappeared into the Eluvian. “Now, shall we?”

 

            And with that, they ran through the mirror.

 

            The Crossroads felt different when she entered, its darkness rippling, as if it could sense and was responding to the chaos that lay just outside its realm. Whatever this place was – wherever this place was – there was no denying how fragile the Veil was here. Trevelyan slowed, side aching dully, and glanced behind her. The Eluvian they had just used had gone dark. Corypheus hadn’t been able to follow them.

 

            This nameless otherworld was safe. Though, seeing the ruins surrounding them, perhaps “safe” was too strong a word.

 

            When Trevelyan turned back around, she realized her companions had gone ahead and she was alone. An Eluvian in the distance was gleaming, mirror lit with blue magic. With a last look at her strange surroundings, Trevelyan jogged towards it.

 

            They were waiting for her on the other side. After she tumbled through, stumbling but thankfully not landing face-first on Skyhold’s dusty floor, Morrigan sealed the Eluvian.

 

            “It is done,” the witch said, hands coming to rest on her hips as they walked out of the small room that housed the Inquisition’s Eluvian and towards a door down the walkway that led inside the castle.

 

            “Thank the Maker.” Cassandra retorted, speaking to the relief that the rest of the group was feeling. The Seeker shot Trevelyan a scrutinizing look, eyes narrowing when she saw the hand that the rogue had placed gingerly over her wound.

 

            “Good work, everyone.” Trevelyan spoke before Cassandra could chastise her in front of the group. She paused, hand on the door, turning to face them. “Get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

 

            With a nod and a clap on her shoulder, Blackwall departed. Solas lingered a moment, looking as if he wished to say something but, eyeing the others, simply left as well.

 

            “Inquisitor. We have much to discuss,” Morrigan said. Her amber eyes were bright, and her words contained a muted excitement. Trevelyan had never seen the witch wear an expression that was not either stoic or sardonic. She was happy, at least, to have given her this – whatever it was.

 

            “Later,” Trevelyan agreed. “Now, though, you should rest.” The image of Morrigan lying face down in the Well, still as death, popped into her mind, and Trevelyan’s nose wrinkled.

 

            Morrigan rolled her eyes, dark lips pursing. “As you wish.” Her voice carried a distinctly noncommittal tone. She strode away, and Trevelyan had a feeling rest was the last thing on her mind.

 

            With a shake of her head, Trevelyan pushed open the door, and then the next door (why did Skyhold have so many doors?), Cassandra following her. She paused at the silence in the main hall, which was usually bustling with activity. With most of their soldiers and allies in the field, Skyhold felt almost as desolate as it had when the Inquisition had first stumbled on it.

 

            “Trevelyan…” Cassandra started, and Trevelyan could hear the frown in her voice without having to see it.

 

            “I will, Cassandra,” Trevelyan said, knowing what she was about to say. Her friend could be single-minded at times. She turned to the Seeker and quirked a brow. “Has anyone ever told you that you fret like a mother hen?”

 

            “Hmph.” Cassandra’s lips twitched into a small smile at the familiar words, though her brows remained furrowed. “Would that I didn’t have to.”

 

            “Hey-!”

 

            “You’re back!” A surprised voice cut in. They both looked up. Leliana was making her way over to them from across the hall, her gaze resting intently on Trevelyan, who smiled softly in return. “Then you were successful.”

 

            Trevelyan nodded. She could feel the adrenaline of their fight with Samson – and flight from Corypheus – begin to ebb, weariness creeping in. “We found the elven artifact Corypheus was after, which was the key to a nearby Eluvian. Corypheus won’t be unleashing doom upon the world – not today, at least.” She gave a wry, if tired, grin, her eyes never leaving the spymaster’s.

 

            Cassandra grunted. “It was an eventful battle, but we were victorious once again. A full report can wait, however.” Her gaze flitted between them, a knowing glint in her eyes. “I leave you in good hands, Inquisitor,” she said, nodding to Leliana in acknowledgement and taking her leave.

 

            After the warrior left, Leliana took a step closer. “You look exhausted,” she murmured, brushing her fingertips along the side of Trevelyan’s face, tracing a streak of dried blood there. “You’re pale.”

 

            Trevelyan gave a noncommittal hum, leaning into the touch. “I’ll be fine.”

 

            Leliana’s calculating gaze swept over the rogue’s armor, noting the blood and tears in the fabric. She sucked in a sharp breath when she noticed Trevelyan’s stab wound, which due to the amount of running they’d done had bled an impressive amount. The spymaster’s hand came to hover over it, carefully pulling back the rogue’s leather armor to better assess the damage.

 

            “Leliana.” Trevelyan reached out to hold Leliana’s hand in her own, threading their fingers together. “It’s barely more than a scratch. It looks worse than it is.” Leliana’s gaze tracked back up to Trevelyan’s face, lips pressed in a doubtful line. “It just needs to be dressed and I’ll be good to go, and I can do that in my quarters.” She gestured with their entwined hands.

 

            “Fine,” Leliana said, voice suggesting that in fact it was anything but. “Then let us go to your quarters.”

 

            Trevelyan grinned at that, raising a brow suggestively.

 

            An exasperated look washed over the spymaster’s face. “Trevelyan, Maker help me, do not say anything-”

 

            Trevelyan’s grin widened, and a blush marched its way up Leliana’s neck.

 

            “Maker, you are impossible,” Leliana huffed, though her lips quirked into an affectionate smile. She squeezed Trevelyan’s hand lightly. “I missed you.”

 

            “I missed you, too,” Trevelyan replied sincerely. She stepped forward, bringing a hand up to Leliana’s cheek. She reveled in the touch a moment, watching the spymaster’s eyes flutter closed, then drew Leliana closer and kissed her.

 

            Leliana sighed against her lips, her free hand tangling in Trevelyan’s hair. The kiss was tender and slow, but still, a few precious moments later Trevelyan was pulling back with a wince.

 

            “Trevelyan…” Leliana watched her with concern.

 

            “It stings,” Trevelyan admitted, giving her a sheepish look. “A…bit.” A lot.

 

            Leliana shook her head, murmuring, “Of course it does. It needs to be tended to.” She reached out for Trevelyan’s hand, lacing their fingers once more. Warmth bloomed in Trevelyan’s chest at the gesture. “Come.”

 

            “Lead the way,” Trevelyan said with a gentle, fond smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now you see why this chapter took me so long... It's never-ending (like 17 pages in Word!).
> 
> More action and cameos from other characters in this one. Personally, I really like this quest, so I couldn't pass up a chance to write through it. Also, I really love Morrigan (if you couldn't tell lol), although she's tough to write, so hopefully I did her justice - as well as the other characters, of course.
> 
> Only a few more chapters to go! Thank you to everyone who's reading this - I hope it's as enjoyable to read as it is to write.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Final Battle, first half in Trevelyan's POV, second in Leliana's.
> 
> Heads up that I altered the final battle a bit - personally, I love final battles where you get to take everyone with you or at least have a sense that everyone's fighting beside you, so that's what's here. I tried to fast-track through the slog of the fighting itself in order to get to the scenes and interactions, but let me know if you think it's too rushed! Or, I mean, if there's any part in general that you think needs tweaking.
> 
> Notes and such are at the end. Enjoy!
> 
> (PS: note that there's discussion of certain lore that may be spoilery? Maybe? If you want to be surprised for Inquisition DLCs, you may want to be cautious.)

* * *

 

            The next handful of days passed in a blur. Trevelyan’s wound, despite being painful, healed more quickly than she’d expected. She’d asked Morrigan about it, when they’d traveled to the Altar of Mythal (“ _Perhaps the effects of the red lyrium, transferred to you from Sampson himself? T’would explain the appeal of the substance, after all._ ”). Trevelyan had been vaguely unsatisfied with the conjecture, but put it out of her mind after it was clear she would recover with no ill effects.

 

            Then had come the waiting for their troops to return from the Arbor Wilds. Cullen had sent word that he was traveling ahead of them. No doubt the Commander was eager to discuss their final strategy of slaying Corypheus once and for all – they all were. But Cullen had yet to arrive, so Trevelyan and the few left in Skyhold were reduced to an anxious anticipation.

 

            Trevelyan, having developed a gnawing headache as the day wore on, had wandered outside and seated herself on the platform of the staircase leading down to the courtyard, legs dangling over the edge. Here, she could get fresh air and watch the gate surreptitiously (though, Trevelyan supposed that staring dead-on at the gate – which was what she’d been doing – was anything but surreptitious).

 

            Cole had found her there and taken a seat next to her. Cole had suggested cloud-gazing ( _“Varric taught me. He said it helps with the unraveling, when your head is tangled.”_ ). Trevelyan had humored him, knowing it was the boy’s way of attempting to make her feel better. Cole’s observations varied from excessively literal to so abstract they took Trevelyan a minute to comprehend.

 

            But now, as they sat in simple silence staring up at the sky, Trevelyan had to admit she felt calmer, even if the ache in her head remained. She leaned back, letting her eyes fall closed, enjoying the play of wind through her hair and the sunlight washing over her face. The sounds of the courtyard filtered through the air: the dull _thwack_ s of Cassandra and Iron Bull’s training weapons, as well as the occasional grunt when the other landed a well-placed blow; the distant echo of voices and laughter from the garden, where Josephine had gathered a group for tea; Sera’s shrieked _Shite!_ and the sound of glass breaking (Maker, Trevelyan hoped that wasn’t one of her jar of bees).

 

            There was a sweetness to the moment, despite what lay ahead, that Trevelyan savored.

 

            “Honey,” Cole spoke up suddenly, startling Trevelyan. “In her wine.”

 

            Trevelyan waited, but no more details seemed forthcoming. “Cole,” she said, opening her eyes and smiling slightly at the boy’s quirky behavior. “ _Who_ has honey in their wine?”

 

            Cole’s pale brows knit together. “No one. Or…perhaps someone?” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Probably –”

 

            Trevelyan cut off his rambling gently. “Who were you talking about?”

 

            “Oh. Leliana. She likes honey in her wine.” Cole’s expression smoothed. He smiled, fingers tracing an intricate pattern along the stone.

 

            Trevelyan raised a brow, gaze sliding over to Cole. She hadn’t realized that. It seemed like such a trivial fact, but knowing it filled Trevelyan’s chest with warmth. She idly glanced back at Skyhold’s tower, watching ravens flit in and out its windows. What other little things did Leliana enjoy?

 

            As if sensing her thoughts, Cole continued. “She likes sweet things. Everything was bitter, before. Burning, black, the taste of darkness. A sacrifice, and then another and another, blood in the challis, blood on the ground, blood on her hands. Bitter, blighted blessings, draining the succor of the rose – _is that why the petals are red_?” Cole’s voice grew more strained as he went on, the words pouring from his mouth. He slumped in on himself, and Trevelyan felt a pang of concern for him.

 

            “Cole, hey,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder, hoping the weight of it would anchor him to the present. “Come back.”

 

            Cole glanced over his shoulder, looking up at her, pale eyes gazing into her own. “ _Come back to me_. Whispers in the night. A smile. Soft touches. A tender blooming, dawn rising in the darkness. Hearts singing hope.” Cole smiled, turning to face her and crossing his legs. He watched her reaction curiously.

 

            Trevelyan blushed lightly. Though half of what he said was a riddle, she understood enough to know he was speaking about her and Leliana’s relationship. She cleared her throat. “That’s…disconcerting, to be on the receiving end of,” she mumbled under her breath.

 

            “She is happy. You gave that to her, and she to you. I…” Cole looked bashful, lowering his eyes. He continued, sincerely, “I don’t understand why, but it makes _me_ happy, too.”

 

            Trevelyan smiled widely, her blush deepening. She leaned over and wrapped an arm around Cole’s shoulders, pulling him into a quick hug. “Thank you, Cole,” she said simply, ruffling his hair before moving away. “You’re a good kid.”

 

            Cole beamed. “Varric says so too.”

 

            Trevelyan laughed. She opened her mouth to reply, but her head pounded with a sharp pain and she clenched her jaw, breath hissing out of her lungs. It felt like a knife had been driven into her head, and she screwed her eyes shut, breathing raggedly.

 

            “You’re hurt!” Cole sounded far away, though Trevelyan was dimly aware that his hands were on her shoulders. “I don’t – I don’t know how to make it better…”

 

            Trevelyan gasped out a breath, about to tell him it was just a nasty headache, when a pins-and-needles feeling began to crawl up her arm from her hand. White-hot lightning sparked through her veins. Behind her eyelids, all Trevelyan could see was green. Tears streamed down her face. It felt like her hand was on fire.

 

            It hurt, it had never hurt like this before – no. Not never. A faint memory stirred of a similar pain. Stone walls; red swirling through the air; a deep, booming voice; pain ripping, tearing through her entire body. Green.

 

            Someone was screaming, the sound fading in and out of the fog in her mind. It took Trevelyan a few disconnected moments to realize it was her, her voice twisted and warped in agony.

 

            “Inquisitor!”

 

            “What’s going on?”

 

            “Move aside!”

 

            “The mark!”

 

            All of the words, the voices, were familiar, but Trevelyan could make no sense of them. The lightning cooled though still lanced through her arm. But then –

 

            “Trevelyan!” There were soft hands on her face, a tender touch. Leliana.

 

            Trevelyan gritted her teeth and opened her eyes. Her vision swam before settling. The spymaster was kneeling next to her, blue eyes wide.

 

            “Leliana,” Trevelyan said, her mouth feeling as if it had been stuffed with ashes, the acrid taste of destruction on her tongue. “It…hurts,” Trevelyan admitted, but seeing the worry – the fear – in her lover’s eyes, she pushed past the haze in her mind and tried to sit up, adding, “A little.”

 

            Leliana’s thumbs soothed away the tears tracking down Trevelyan’s cheeks. Trevelyan reached out a hand to comfort the spymaster, but stopped when she saw the Anchor. It was glowing brightly, tendrils of green magic emanating from her palm. She flexed her fingers, trying to close it, but the mark didn’t respond. What was happening?

 

            “The Inquisitor requires a healer!” Cassandra bellowed from somewhere behind Trevelyan.

 

            “Na melana tel’sahlin. This condition is fleeting. Tis no need for a healer.” Trevelyan could feel a hand wrap around her wrist, and when she turned Morrigan had settled next to Leliana, examining the Anchor with a sharp gaze.

 

            “How can you –?”

 

            The question was cut off as the Anchor flared brilliantly, shooting a bolt of through Trevelyan’s arm that had the edges of her vision blackening, tinting her world green. She blinked but the color didn’t clear.

 

            “What in the name of the Maker…” Around her, everyone stood, staring in confusion.

 

            The sky glimmered green. Slowly, clouds began to swirl around a point on the near horizon. They picked up speed, and a familiar shape appeared there.

 

            Another Breach.

 

            Morrigan tutted, her eyes on the blemish in the sky. “It seems Corypheus is not content to wait.”

 

            “He’s drawing us to him,” Trevelyan remarked, rising to her feet. As soon as the Breach had opened, the Anchor had died down, taking the pain with it. She felt like the sheath of a drawn sword, hollow and strangely light.

 

            “Trevelyan!” Leliana’s attention returned to the rogue, and she frowned. She put a hand on Trevelyan’s arm as if to steady her. “Are you –”

 

            “I’m alright now.” Trevelyan gave the redhead a small, comforting smile. “It’s…odd, but where there was pain, now there’s just- nothing.” She shrugged, casting a glance down at the silent mark. It was a stark reminder that, despite it’s proven utility, the Anchor was still borne of magic they did not understand.

 

            Leliana’s eyes searched her face, noting the clarity of Trevelyan’s gaze, the returning color to her ashen skin, the surety of her posture. After a moment, she nodded, hand trailing down the rogue’s arm to circle lightly around the rogue’s wrist, the thrum of Trevelyan’s steady heartbeat beneath her fingertips reassuring her.

 

            Trevelyan turned back to the Breach in the sky. Her eyes narrowed. “Corypheus is in the Valley of Sacred Ashes.”

 

            “Indeed. Either you close the Breach once more or it swallows the world.” Morrigan’s tone was somber.

 

            “But…that’s madness!” Josephine spoke up from the edge of the group, pushing her way forward to stand next to them. Her bronze complexion was several shades paler. “Wouldn’t it kill him as well?”

 

            “The fool is mad,” Morrigan stated dryly, arching a brow and putting her hands on her hips. “That a madman succumbs to his own lunacy is hardly surprising.”

 

            _It’s pride_ , Trevelyan thought, certainty and dread falling like twin stones in her gut. _If he cannot inherit the Maker’s throne, then he’d rather see the world burn_. The notion made her nauseous.

 

            “Inquisitor,” Cassandra said, drawing Trevelyan out of her thoughts. The Seeker’s expression was drawn in sharp angles – the furrow of her brow, the tightness of her jaw, the slant of her frown. “The bulk of the Inquisition’s forces will not return from the Arbor Wilds for some time. We are without an army.”

 

            Trevelyan’s mouth set in a grim line. “I must go now, before it’s too late.” This new Breach was already widening in the sky. She couldn’t afford to wait.

 

            Cassandra immediately protested. “You cannot –”

 

            Trevelyan squared her shoulders, glancing in turn at each of her gathered companions. By now, everyone had crowded around. “I have to.”

 

            Leliana’s grip tightened around Trevelyan’s wrist. When Trevelyan looked at her, there was an unreadable expression scrawled across the spymaster’s face. But she met Trevelyan’s eyes and nodded.

 

            “This cannot wait, Cassandra,” Leliana said in a measured tone, crossing her arms over her chest. “If we are to go, we must leave now.” A shared look of understanding passed between the Right and Left Hand.

 

            “Hold on. This fight will be dangerous. I will not ask anyone unwilling to join me, and I will take only a small party,” Trevelyan said firmly, eyeing them both. They appeared unmoved by her words.

 

            From behind Cassandra, Varric snorted. “Stabby,” he drawled with a crooked smile. “If it’s a _small_ party you want...” He gestured down at himself, eyes glittering with mirth.

 

            Trevelyan frowned, but Iron Bull spoke up next. “I’m with you, Boss. I think I like the challenge of cleaving a god in two.”

 

            “And I, for one, would never miss an opportunity to knock a magister down a peg,” Dorian added in his typical smug-bordering-on-arrogant fashion, winking. The small smile he aimed at her hinted at a different motivation, and Trevelyan suspected there wasn’t a corner of Thedas that her friend wouldn’t accompany her if she was in need.

 

            “What, with sparkles?” Sera rolled her eyes, indignant. “Arrows, that’s what you’ll need. Lots and lots of arrows.” A mischievous grin spread across her freckled face, and she started sniggering. “And bees.”

 

            “In sum, I believe I speak for us all when I say you will be having all our support in the battle ahead. We won’t desert you in your time of need, my dear,” Vivienne said, lips curling into a regal smile.

 

            “Corypheus is not your responsibility alone,” Solas agreed, brows knit together gravely as he regarded the Breach hanging over them.

 

            Trevelyan was buffeted with a wave of emotion as she regarded them all. She swallowed the rising lump in her throat. “Very well,” she said, voice uneven. She cleared her throat. “I…I could ask for no finer company. No finer friends.” Trevelyan cut herself off there.

 

            “We could ask for no finer cause,” Leliana replied, and Trevelyan’s heart flipped at the tender look of devotion on the spymaster’s face. The sapphire-blue of her lover’s eyes were intoxicating, and for a long moment Trevelyan couldn’t find it in herself to tear her gaze away.

 

            “Hear, hear!” someone – Blackwall? – chimed in, and the sound of it broke Trevelyan’s reverie, causing her to blush. The phrase caught on, and around her a chorus of affirmation went up.

 

            Trevelyan grinned, feeling the telltale prick of tears burning behind her eyes. She truly could not have asked for better, more steadfast friends. There were none she would trust more to have her back in the battle ahead.

 

            “Everyone grab their weapons and armor and rendezvous back here in an hour’s time,” she instructed. “For the Inquisition!”

 

            “For the Inquisition!” They echoed, the rallying cry reverberating throughout the courtyard as they dispersed.

 

            She waited until the others had left, then turned to Leliana. The spymaster stood at her side, cowl down, arms crossed loosely over her chest. She was smiling, small but true, and her eyes shone with pride.

 

            “You’re coming?” Trevelyan posed it as a question though she knew the answer already.

 

            “I am,” Leliana said unwaveringly, radiating a soft determination. She arched a brow at Trevelyan as if waiting to see whether the rogue would object. “I hear you’ll need arrows.”

 

            “Lots of them,” Trevelyan said playfully, with a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She had the utmost faith in the spymaster’s abilities – Leliana was a capable fighter and could easily hold more than her own; there was a sense of comfort in the idea that she would be joining them. Still, Trevelyan couldn’t quell the anxiety snaking in her gut at the thought of her lover putting herself in danger. It was an unsettling duality. “Leliana…”

 

            Leliana frowned at her tone, and opened her mouth to retort, so Trevelyan continued quickly, moving past her doubts.

 

            “I’m glad, to be in this together.” Trevelyan took a step forward, reaching out and taking the spymaster’s hands in hers, lacing their fingers together.

 

            Leliana’s expression softened at her words. “Always,” she replied gently, echoing Trevelyan’s promise and returning it in kind.

 

            This time, Trevelyan’s grin was true. “Good,” she said, and leaned forward to press her lips against Leliana’s.

 

            The kiss started out slow, but the emotion and anticipation surrounding the upcoming battle fueled its intensity. Trevelyan swept her tongue over the redhead’s lips, and with a small guttural sound in response, Leliana parted them eagerly. Leliana brought her hands to rest on Trevelyan’s waist, each time her tongue grazed Trevelyan’s sending a jolt through her. Trevelyan reached up, cupping the spymaster’s cheek with one hand while the other gripped at the crest on Leliana’s chest, dragging them closer. Leliana slipped her hands beneath the rogue’s shirt, and the rasp of a moan Trevelyan made in reaction sent a flush of heat to Leliana’s core. It felt like her body was on fire, but Maker, what a pleasure it was to burn.

 

            “Wait.” Trevelyan broke away, mind hazy and eyes closed. She could feel Leliana lean in to pursue her, nipping at her bottom lip. For a moment, Trevelyan couldn’t remember why she’d stopped. “We should…” Her breath hitched as the spymaster’s hands ghosted up her stomach. “Go. My quarters. Before someone stumbles upon us.” They were in probably the least private area in Skyhold, practically begging for an interruption. Trevelyan’s mind flashed back to their moment in the war room before they’d left for Valance, when Cullen had found them. The memory alone made her blush. Yes, one awkward intrusion was enough for her.

 

            Trevelyan could feel Leliana smirk against her lips. “I am merely,” she paused, dragging her hand almost torturingly slow across the plane of Trevelyan’s stomach until resting it on Trevelyan’s hip, her thumb hooked under the waistband of Trevelyan’s pants. “Giving my Inquisitor a helping hand. Undressing is the first step to changing into armor, no?”

 

            Trevelyan swallowed roughly, mouth dry. She had an idea of how Leliana’s hands could help her. Trevelyan took a step back, feeling a flush creep up her neck and heat pooling somewhere decidedly farther south. Trevelyan bit her lip. “I suppose, though the step before that is usually to go somewhere private,” she quipped, her dry humor kicking in where her rational thought was failing her.

 

            Leliana’s blue eyes were a shade darker as she watched Trevelyan, gaze flicking from the brunette’s lips to her eyes. Her smirk returned. “Then let us go somewhere private.”

 

*

 

            The journey to the Valley of Sacred Ashes was much faster this time around, without a snowstorm to hinder them like they’d faced in their flight from Haven. As they marched, Trevelyan couldn’t help but find a sort of poetic justice in the idea that this would end where it all began. But perhaps that was why Corypheus had chosen it.

 

            Halfway through the trek, they had spotted a small party traveling towards them at an impressive speed. As they neared, Trevelyan recognized the Inquisition’s insignia on the banners they carried and the sandy hair of their Commander. His face was grave as he approached her, dismounting his horse and handing the reins to one of the soldiers behind him.

 

            “Well met, Commander,” Trevelyan greeted, relieved to note that, despite a dogged weariness that haunted his gaze, Cullen seemed no worse for the wear.

 

            “Indeed.” Cullen ran a hand through his hair, glancing up at the sky. A hint of a wry and humorless smile graced his face. “Would that our victories lasted long enough to celebrate them.”

 

            Trevelyan let out a short laugh. “Where would be the fun in that?” She shook her head and explained their situation to him.

 

            When she had finished, Cullen protested just as Cassandra had, but half-heartedly. He admitted that even the vanguard of their troops were still at least a day’s march away. It was plain to see that the Breach was unstable and had already grown wider – time was a luxury they did not have.

 

            “Inquisitor. If you insist on going into battle, I will not turn my back on you.” Cullen squared his shoulders, straightening the exhaustion from his posture. His steely eyes met Trevelyan’s own, and he continued, voice lower, “I ran from Corypheus once, at Haven.” Dark emotion shadowed his face at the memory. Guilt? Whatever it was, it pained him enough to look away.

 

            “Upon my orders,” Trevelyan reminded him. Cullen looked back to her, though Trevelyan couldn’t tell if he truly believed her words – if they were enough.

 

            “Then,” he paused, his hand coming to rest on the pommel of his sheathed sword as if it were a touchstone he could draw strength from. He glanced at someone behind her, then back to Trevelyan. “I ask you to give me different orders now. Allow me to join you in this fight.”

 

            Trevelyan hesitated, before nodding. She trusted the Commander to know his limits, and if this was what he wanted, what he needed… She would not deny him this redemption, though she didn’t believe it was necessary. They’d done what they had to survive at Haven.

 

            “Just…instruct your soldiers to return to Skyhold,” Trevelyan said, gaze drifting to the half dozen Inquisition soldiers behind him. She had no doubt that, if given the chance, every one of them would charge into battle with them. Cullen apparently thought the same, and his brows furrowed. He opened his mouth to protest, but Trevelyan insisted. “Our people have done enough – more than enough. This is not their fight. It’s _ours_.”

 

            Cullen regarded her a moment before bowing his head. “Very well, Inquisitor. And…thank you.”

 

            Trevelyan smiled faintly, watching him return to his soldiers and give them a few short orders. When he turned back, face a mask of resolve, Travelyan commanded, “Alright, move out!”

 

* * *

 

            The wind picked up as they began their descent into the Valley, the sky darkening as clouds were sucked towards the pull of the Breach. Trevelyan had moved to take point, and Leliana was content to follow a few yards behind, bow in hand, eyes scanning the tree line. The air was thick, with more than just blowing snow – there was a wrongness that caused the hairs on the back of Leliana’s neck to rise.

 

            Varric, who was traipsing a few feet ahead of her, seemed to sense her tension. He shouldered Bianca and looked back at her. “So,” he drawled, a small encouraging grin spreading across his face. “Seeing as this’ll be your second time saving Thedas, any tips for us beginners?”

 

            It was an innocuous enough question, but it brought back memories of the Battle of Denerim and slaying the archdemon. Memories of the rag tag group Leliana had (naively, it turned out) considered an inseparable family splinter, first when Morrigan abandoned them after the Warden had refused to complete her dark ritual, and then again when the Warden had slain the archdemon and sacrificed his life. Too much had been quietly lost on that day, even in the midst of their ultimate victory; the light in Alastair’s eyes, the small smile Sten sometimes wore when he thought no one was looking, the innocence –

 

            Chest suddenly feeling hollow and too empty, Leliana pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind. The years had been enough to dull the sharpness of the memories, but not defang them completely. (What was it Trevelyan had said once – without sentimentality they’d be no better than Corypheus? Leliana knew it to be true, but Maker, that didn’t make it easy.)

 

            Realizing Varric was still waiting for an answer, she replied simply, “Don’t die.”

 

            Leliana thought she’d masked emotion behind her words well enough, but Varric was perceptive. His face fell in sympathy, and he sighed with a weariness that was more than just his own. “Oh, Nightingale…” He hesitated, glancing to her right. Leliana followed his gaze and saw that Morrigan had drifted close to them. “Wasn’t planning on it,” he said, opting for his trademark humor, but giving her a knowing look. “I don’t think _any_ of us are.”

 

            With that, he bowed his head, a small sad smile hanging on his lips, and ambled away to give her privacy. Training her eyes back on the valley, Leliana wondered idly whether it was the dwarf’s side career as a writer that made him so empathetic, or if it was his empathy that drove his writing.

 

            “Leliana,” Morrigan said, coming to stand by the spymaster’s side. The witch’s voice held a strange, heavy tone to it, causing Leliana to tear her gaze away from the valley before them.

 

            Morrigan was watching her, expression stoic but amber eyes betraying an old pain, one that echoed with the fear writhing in Leliana’s gut. A shared understanding passed between them like lightning, prickling the scars of old wounds.

 

            “Tis going to be different, this time.” It was barely a handful of words, the first they’d spoken of what had happened all those years ago, and not at all what Leliana had been expecting.

 

            Leliana lifted her chin, meeting Morrigan’s eyes. She was surprised to see the hesitance, the glimmer of vulnerability, there.

 

            Morrigan herself was different now. The realization hit Leliana with more force than it should have. She had been so caught up in the bitterness caused by Morrigan’s betrayal at the Battle of Denerim – Morrigan had abandoned them (the oddball family Leliana had foolishly thought they’d been), abandoned the man who so dearly loved her. Morrigan had ran, and Leliana had been so sure it had been out of pride or anger or some other selfish emotion. But now… Morrigan had returned, had aided the Inquisition forthcomingly enough (though Leliana couldn’t shake the lingering suspicion that the witch had some ulterior motive). Now, in their hour of need, Morrigan was staying.

 

            And Trevelyan was not the Warden. In the final moment, she would choose differently than he had.

 

            “It already is different,” Leliana replied quietly. Morrigan’s brows rose slightly, eyes flickering with some feeling Leliana couldn’t place. “We have suffered. The world has suffered. But, we are stronger for it. In our hearts burn an unquenchable flame.”

 

            Morrigan scoffed and rolled her eyes at the paraphrased Chant of Light line. “It seems at least some things remain ever constant.”

 

            A faint chuckle escaped Leliana’s mouth. “Yes, I thought you would appreciate that.”

 

            “Hmph.” Morrigan’s eyes slid back to the spymaster, neither confirming nor refuting the remark. Her lips pressed into something that almost resembled a smile. Her typical biting comment went left unsaid, to Leliana’s surprise.

 

            Yes, things truly were different, this time around.

 

*

 

            They managed to near Haven (what remained of Haven) before they ran into trouble.

 

            Cullen and Leliana flanked Trevelyan as the group came to shore of the frozen lake. Trevelyan’s hands were clenched in fists at her side, shoulders tense.

 

            “Movement ahead,” Leliana noted, seeing shadows through the snow in the air. She drew an arrow, knocking it.

 

            “Be on guard,” Trevelyan called over her shoulder. Leliana could hear the metallic sounds of armor shifting and weapons being drawn behind her.

 

            “Demons, no doubt.” Cullen said, brows furrowed as he peered ahead. “Is there a rift nearby?”

 

            Trevelyan shook her head with a frown. If there were demons this far out from the Temple, who knew how many more would be waiting for them the closer they got?

 

            They heard a snarl, and all of a sudden they were being charged. Leliana pulled her bowstring, aiming for the chest of the nearest one, and let her arrow fly. It connected with a scraping clang.

            Armor. Not demons, then.

 

            With their numbers, the battle was over in a scant moment, with only their ranged fighters engaging. There’d been five enemies, Leliana saw as they stood over the crumpled forms.

 

            “Red Templars?” Trevelyan wondered, nudging the helmet of one with her foot. “They’re smaller than usual. Weaker, too.”

 

            The bodies were encased in armor, red lyrium crystals spiking off the metal, feeble bursts of red magic occasionally flaring up like a flame slowly being choked off. They were small, both their heights and builds no larger than an ordinary human’s. Something was off.

 

            Trevelyan knelt, carefully lifting the corpse’s helm. When it came away, Trevelyan’s hands faltered, and she sucked in a sharp breath. “These are-”

 

            “Walking dead,” Leliana confirmed, staring down at the shriveled, eyeless face.

 

            “Shite,” Sera swore from somewhere behind them, voice shrill. “Shite, shite, shite, that’s _wrong_! Dead should stay dead!”

 

            “They’ll all be dead again soon enough,” Blackwall reassured her.

 

            From where he’d been examining the corpses, Cullen looked up, mouth pressed into a grim line. “Inquisitor. When they lived, these were Templars. We…should be wary. There may be more in the area.”

 

            Yes, Leliana supposed if there was one place with plenty of corpses to reanimate, it would be here. The thought of Corypheus mutilating these souls not once, but twice, caused a cold anger to freeze through her veins.

 

            “Understood.” Trevelyan’s expression was hard, but Leliana could just make out the revulsion hidden beneath in the slant of her frown, the bob of her throat as she swallowed quickly, the shifting of her gaze as she avoided looking at the bodies at her feet.

 

            As the party started moving again, Leliana drew close and put a comforting hand on the rogue’s arm. Wordlessly, Trevelyan shot her a grateful smile.

 

            They ran into more as they snaked along the path to the Temple, mostly pockets of just a few ambling aimlessly in the desolate valley. Farther along, however, the walking dead increased in number and ferocity. The first time they were flanked, Leliana chalked it up to an unfortunate coincidence. They’d been fighting a half dozen walking dead where the path led uphill and cut along asheer cliff, so that they were forced to fight in a natural narrow corridor. Another, smaller group of walking dead had heard the sounds of fighting and had come up the path, boxing the Inquisition party in.

 

            The second time was no coincidence.

 

            “These are no ordinary animated corpses,” Cassandra said, sheathing her sword and scowling down at the now twice-dead bodies.

 

            Iron Bull snorted, blood trickling from a shallow wound on his chest. “Are there _ordinary_ ones?”

 

            Cassandra huffed at the quip. “They should be mindless, but these…they are capable of thought, strategy.”

 

            “These also look different,” Leliana pointed out. They were less withered, less grotesque, and they had moved in a more fluid, natural way.

 

            “Perhaps it is an effect of the lyrium?” Solas, who had been mostly silent until now, suggested. He bent, examining a body clothed in what might have been a mage’s robes but were now tattered almost beyond recognition. Red lyrium was encrusted on parts of the corpse’s skin.

 

            “Whatever it is, I do not like it,” Cassandra said, casting a last dark look down before turning away.

 

            “Tis a powerful, tainted magic,” Morrigan remarked, standing at Trevelyan’s side. The witch frowned as she stared down at the bodies, brows drawn together. As Leliana watched, she tilted her head ever so slightly as if she were listening to something, but Leliana could hear nothing. “Beyond even Corypheus’ ken. Tis likely he is drawing upon some artifact or source to create these…things.”

 

            “Stabby…” Varric gave Trevelyan a meaningful look.

 

            “He’s using the red lyrium beneath the Temple.” Trevelyan’s eyes were cold, face stony. She turned to look at the walls of the Temple, looming in the near distance. “Why is it always red lyrium?” she wondered quietly.

 

            Varric muttered something under his breath that sounded like _There’s the question._

 

            “Whatever shit he’s got up his sleeve, we’re gonna find out soon enough, Boss,” Iron Bull pointed out, his great axe still in his white-knuckled grip.

 

            Trevelyan nodded and the party moved out. They did not encounter any more enemies along their path, and that paired with the howling of the wind and the darkening of the sky around them set everyone’s nerves on edge. This was it, what all of the Inquisition’s actions had pushed towards. The moment of truth.

 

            Stepping onto the charred ground of the Temple imparted an uneasy sense of déjà vu in Leliana. When she had been here with the Warden, searching for Andraste’s ashes, the Temple had invoked a sense of awe and reverence in her. With Justinia and the impending Conclave, hope. After the explosion, despair and vengeance. And now? Leliana’s emotions were a moving target and she was unable to pin them down.

 

            Leliana thought she could see Corypheus’ form by the entrance to the ruined Temple, right hand alight with scarlet magic. She shot Trevelyan a sidelong glance. The rogue’s eyes were narrowed and focused sharply on the former magister as well, daggers in hand.

 

            “I-in…quisitor.” A rasp of a voice brokenly called out. Leliana’s brows rose in surprise, and Trevelyan’s steps faltered. To their right, slumped against the crumbling remains of a wall, was an Inquisition scout. Her brown eyes were dark, half-closed, and when they approached, Leliana noticed the shallow rise and fall of her chest was uneven. The scout turned her ashen face slowly to the spymaster. “L-lady Nightingale.”

 

            “Piper,” Leliana recognized, the young woman a shell of herself now.

 

            “Is there anything we can do?” Trevelyan asked, voice breaking halfway through the question. She knelt next to the scout, examining the gaping wound in her abdomen.

 

            “No, my dear,” Vivienne said simply, but not uncaringly. Trevelyan’s jaw clenched.

 

            Piper’s lips, red with a sheen of blood, rose into a whisper of a smile. “It…was a p-pleasure to serve.” Her eyes swung from Trevelyan to Leliana. “Tell m-my brother-”

 

            Leliana nodded, her heart constricting. She had heard enough dying wishes over the years to know the rest of that sentence without it being spoken.

 

            Piper’s eyes closed, her smile widening ever so slightly. She took a shuddering breath. “For…the Inquisition.”

 

            Trevelyan stayed by her side until the scout’s chest stilled. When she stood, there was a fire in her eyes. Every muscle in her body was taut. She was an arrow ready to fly. “Let’s go.”

 

            The weight of the death settled heavily on everyone’s shoulders. The party took a few steps away when there was an odd, crackling hum behind them.

 

            “What n-?” Cassandra stopped short, turning and eyes widening at what she saw.

 

            As Leliana watched, magic arced like lightning over Piper’s fallen form, clinging like static. Her skin became rosy, her veins glowing eerily crimson.

 

            When her eyes opened, they shone scarlet, no trace of brown behind them.

 

            “Fucking _shite_!” Sera yelped.

 

            Piper stood, movements unencumbered by the mortal wound in her stomach.

 

            “Piper?” Trevelyan stepped forward, and Leliana’s grip tightened on her bow.

 

            “Too late.” Piper’s voice was gravelly, hard. In a deft move, she unsheathed the shortsword at her belt. Just as swift, Leliana knocked an arrow. “You were too late to save me.” With that, she lunged at the Inquisitor.

 

            Leliana pulled her bowstring back, aiming in the time it took her to blink. She needn’t have bothered. Trevelyan neatly sidestepped the blow and countered, her dagger lodging into Piper’s chest. A merciful strike that would grant a quick death. Trevelyan whispered something to the scout that Leliana was not close enough to hear, but she read the words _I’m sorry_ from her lover’s lips. Piper fell, lifeless once more.

 

            “What manner of creature was that?” Cassandra wondered, giving voice to the question on everyone’s mind. “It could not be a walking dead.”

 

            “No,” Morrigan agreed, amber eyes not leaving the scout. “T’was a walking ghost.”

 

            The Seeker scoffed, and Leliana tried to keep the skepticism out of her voice when she asked, “A…ghost?”

 

            Before Morrigan could respond, there was a whispery sound, like sighs or hushed voices. Piper’s body charred, burning without flames, turning to ash. With a gust of wind, the ashes scattered, disappearing into thin air.

 

            “Borne of the lyrium here.” Morrigan’s words were hallowed with awe. She shook her head, then glanced at Trevelyan. “Inquisitor, we should beware.”

 

            Trevelyan looked up from the last place Piper’s body had been and nodded shortly.

 

            The party picked their way through the ruins to the Temple’s entrance. As they neared, Leliana could see Corypheus standing in the doorway, the elven orb clutched in his grip, swirling with magic. At his feet lay three Inquisition scouts, though Leliana noted thankfully that they were still very much alive. Corypheus was speaking to them, his deep voice carrying in the ruins.

 

            “You say your Inquisition seeks to save Thedas, to bring order. Tell me, is that what you see here? Bow to me, and I shall restore the world to its proper glory. I shall bring deliverance. Bow to your new god, of your new world, and be spared.”

 

            “Never!” One of the scouts shouted, scrambling to his feet.

 

            Corypheus’ lip curled into a sneer. “As you wish.” The orb in his hand flared, shooting out a wave of crimson magic that buffeted the area, bringing the scout to his knees. Out of the wave, two figures appeared, what looked like a Templar and a Dalish mage. Their eyes burned scarlet.

 

            With a roar, Cassandra rushed forward, parrying the strike the Templar had aimed at the scout. The Dalish mage cast a protective barrier, but was beset by Iron Bull and Sera’s arrows. Through the melee, Trevelyan strode to stand before Corypheus.

 

            Corypheus mockingly bowed to her. “I knew you would come. Returning like a gnat to the stench of your failure.”

 

            Trevelyan gritted her teeth. “It ends here, Corypheus.”

 

            He smirked, straightening. “This place has seen so many endings, Inquisitor. So many deaths. And now it – they – shall see yours as well.”

 

            Corypheus spread his arms wide. Another blast of magic exploded from the orb, staggering them all and forcing them several yards back. Two things happened at once: a red mist rose from the ground, and great pieces of the earth and Temple rose in the air as if being scooped up by a giant invisible hand. Shadows began to appear in the mist – one, two, a dozen, dozens. Maker, it was too many to count, too many to guess.

 

            Corypheus had constructed a floating fortress in the air out of the carcass of the Temple. As it ascended higher into the sky, he called down, “Should those you failed to save not end you first, ‘Herald of Andraste,’ I leave you a way to me.” A hundred yards away, a small, perilous-looking path rose, a tentative connection to the mass in the sky.

 

            And blocking the way was Corypheus’ ghostly army. All of those who had died at the Conclave, their eyes glinting through the shadows.

 

            “Shit,” Leliana heard Trevelyan curse as an incoming arrow whistled past her head.

 

            The party leapt into action. Solas cast a protective barrier around them, though Leliana still ducked behind a crumbling wall for cover, letting a volley of arrows fly at a group of approaching Templars. Dorian and Vivienne rained spells of fire and ice down on the battlefield, and Iron Bull swung a mighty blow at a charging Qunari warrior. The familiar crackle of Morrigan’s lightning magic downed two of the Templars Leliana had been aiming at, and stunned the rest, allowing the spymaster to fell them with a few skillful shots. Sera and Cole charged a group of mages that were attempting to flank the party, the elf cackling maniacally while the boy was silent and deadly.

 

            It was chaos, and they were effectively pinned in a defensive position, the numbers overwhelming.

 

            “Inquisitor!” Cullen’s voice barely rang out above the fray. “We will carve you a path. You must go after Corypheus!”

 

            Trevelyan, who had been skirting along the edges of combat and striking vulnerable foes, glanced over her shoulder at him. Leliana could clearly read the reluctance in her gaze; Trevelyan was not one to leave her allies behind.

 

            From across the way, Iron Bull yelled, “The Commander’s right, boss!” He sliced his axe through the air, cleaving an elven rogue who’d been attempting to sneak up on him.

 

            Cullen deflected an arrow with his shield, then lashed out at an approaching Templar. “We’ll divide our forces in two. Take who you like with you, Inquisitor. We will break their lines, buy you time to get through.”

 

            Trevelyan’s mouth pressed into a thin line, but she nodded. “Alright. The scouts will stay here with you, Commander. Morrigan, Solas, Dorian, Cassandra, Varric…” Trevelyan named, scanning the party as she did so. Her eyes locked on Leliana, and the spymaster started towards her, taking the decision out of the rogue’s hands. “And Leliana, with me. Everyone…stay safe.”

 

            “We will make you proud, my dear,” Vivienne promised, twirling her staff and freezing an archer sniping from atop a nearby wall.

 

            “Yeah, and no funny business, right?” Sera piped up, putting her hands on her hips and turning to regard Trevelyan with a critical look. “You better still be breathing and everything by the end of this, understand?”

 

            Trevelyan grinned. “I will if you will.”

 

            “Deal!” Sera cried, seeming relieved at the answer, then turned to Cullen. “Right then, let’s get a move on!”

 

            Cullen’s expertise in battle tactics and fighting was one thing to appreciate in reports, Leliana noted, but another to witness on the battlefield itself. The Commander marshalled his group together, gave them short orders, and with a rallying cry they were moving. Cullen, Blackwall, and the Iron Bull charged into the thick of the enemy, a wall of ferocious steel. Vivienne cast punishing wintry spells, raising walls of ice to block out advancing foes. Sera fired arrow after arrow with a rhythmic _twang_ of her bowstring, the scouts joining her. Cole seemed to vanish into the air, though Leliana could catch glimpses of him weaving through the fray.

 

            “Go!” Trevelyan shouted, and sprinted towards were the path beckoned.

 

            Leliana tucked her bow beneath her arm and followed her, the heaviness of her armor slowing her somewhat (Leliana could shoot a target dead between the eyes, but it had been awhile since she’d _ran_ like this). Their group had to duck and dodge as the lines of the fight around them ebbed and flowed. Trevelyan led the way, Cassandra at her side with her shield raised protectively. Solas was intent on their heels, firing arcane bolts at any enemies who strayed too close, and Varric trailed after him, focusing all his efforts on keeping up. The four of them moved like a well-oiled unit, their time spent on missions together showing through.

 

            They ended up having to fight to reach the base of the path, but only a handful of forces, and between the seven of them they fell in a matter of minutes. Trevelyan hesitated, glancing back at Cullen’s group, who were completely surrounded, but it was only for a moment and she was moving again.

 

            The path was steep and narrow, allowing for only a single-file ascent. Though he was nowhere to be seen, when they were partway up Corypheus’ voice rang out. “So you have made it this far, exchanging another’s fate for yours. But there is a final obstacle before you reach me.”

 

            _Of course, it couldn’t be easy,_ Leliana thought. Ahead of her, she saw Dorian grimace.

 

            A large shadow passed overhead. The dragon.

 

            “Run!” Trevelyan urged. She started to call out something else, but it was drowned out in an ear-splitting roar.

 

            A scant few feet in front of Dorian, a blast of fire slammed into the ground. The force of it was tremendous, dust and smoke flying, the shock sending Dorian, Leliana, and Morrigan stumbling backwards. As Leliana stared, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, the path in front of them crumbled and gave way, leaving a yawning hole separating the three of them and Trevelyan’s group.

 

            “Leliana!” Trevelyan had turned back, face a mask of anguish.

 

            “We’re all right!” Leliana called back, reassuring her.

 

            “Bit too close to being fried to a crisp to be ‘all right.’ We’re going to have to turn back, before our flying friend returns!” Dorian pointed out urgently, eyes trained on the dragon, which was circling back around.

 

            “Go!” Trevelyan yelled, desperation threading her voice. Each second they lingered was another second without cover, another second vulnerable.

 

            “They will be safe, Inquisitor,” Morrigan said from somewhere behind Leliana. “I can match the dragon. Now matching Corypheus, that is up to you.”

 

            Leliana glanced back at the witch just in time to see her jump off the path. A hair-raising moment later, there was a second roar, and a purple dragon surged up, soaring through the air to collide with Corypheus’ dragon in a tangle of teeth and claws.

 

            “Maker’s breath,” Dorian muttered, momentarily distracted, watching the display with wide eyes.

 

            “Trevelyan! We’ll rejoin the Commander’s forces. We’ll find a way to you when this is over.” There was so much more Leliana wanted to say, but they didn’t have the time. “Remember-”

 

            “We’re getting out of this alive,” Trevelyan promised. “All of us.”

 

            “Then I would suggest we move,” Cassandra said, impatience creeping into her tone. The warrior gazed across at the spymaster. “Leliana. We shall meet you on the other side of this fight.”

 

            With that, they separated, the battle raging around them.

 

*

 

            The battle lasted hours, or so it seemed. Leliana’s arms ached, fingers of her bow hand numb despite her gloves. When she’d run out of arrows, she’d drawn her daggers, switching ranged for close quarters combat. Her ribs were sore from a sword strike that her chain mail had taken the brunt of, and her shoulder stung slightly where an enemy arrow had grazed it. But they had managed to thin the enemy to numbers evening their own, and the feeling of accomplishment dulled her pain to a background ache.

 

            Leliana glanced at the sky. Corypheus’ dragon had since stopped its attack, and Leliana knew with certainty it was dead. But that was all she knew, from down below, and the sense of being in the dark left her uneasy.

 

            A clang of steel on steel focused her attention back on the battle. Cullen had locked swords with a Templar. Leliana readied her daggers, circling and moving in. Cullen finished him off first, bashing his shield against the Templar’s chest and when he staggered, the Commander ran his sword through the vulnerable gaps in the Templar’s armor.

 

            Cullen nodded at her, opening his mouth to say something, but his gaze slid behind her. “The Breach.”

 

            Leliana turned. A jet of emerald magic tore through the sky, burying into the heart of the Breach. After a few long seconds, it faded away, and as Leliana watched, the tear in the sky narrowed, spiraling in on itself until it vanished completely. Around them, the few remaining ghosts, as Morrigan had called them, crumpled, their bodies turning to ash before they even hit the ground.

 

            The sky-bound fortress that Corypheus had constructed teetered, and pieces of it began to fall to the ground.

 

            “The Inquisitor!” “Trevelyan!” the advisors cried out at the same time. Exchanging a look, they ran towards it.

 

            Debris thudded into the ground around them, rocks and chunks of earth. The main portion of the floating fortress was descending more slowly, but still Leliana could not quell the fear that blazed through her veins.

 

            When it hit, the whole valley shook, knocking Leliana off her feet. Cullen groaned, and Leliana flinched as she rose, her hand coming to rest gingerly over her ribs. Bruised, Leliana mused, but no fractures. She peered through the cloud of dirt and dust that had risen from the impact.

 

            They circled around, picking their way around the scattered rocks and ruins, searching. The remaining scouts, Blackwall, Vivienne, Sera, Cole, and the Iron Bull joined them, and together the group moved as one. They found a set of stairs leading up. Leliana stepped towards them, then paused.

 

            There, standing on one of the top steps, was Trevelyan. She was glancing over her shoulder, looking at something behind her. Leliana drank in the sight of her as if she were parched. Trevelyan stood tall, brunette hair mussed slightly, flecks of blood dotting her armor, with no apparent wounds. Trevelyan had been victorious, and she was _alive_. The overwhelming relief that engulfed her nearly left Leliana in tears.

 

            Someone called out to her, and Trevelyan turned. When her honeyed eyes found Leliana’s, a dazzling smile broke across her face.

 

            They were together before either thought to move, the distance falling away between them like nothing. Leliana wrapped her arms around Trevelyan’s waist, pressing her close, breathing her in.

 

            “You did it. It’s over,” Leliana said warmly. She turned her gaze to Trevelyan, blue eyes glistening. “You won. And you’re…” Leliana shook her head. “You kept your promise.”

 

            Trevelyan reached up, cupping the redhead’s cheek, and leaned up to bring their lips together in a slow, passionate kiss.

 

            “We did it,” Trevelyan insisted when they broke apart, voice breathy. “ _We_ won.” She rested her cheek against Leliana’s. “And there’s nothing that could keep me apart from you.”

 

            They heard whooping behind them. Sera was jumping up and down, pumping a fist in the air with one hand while pointing at them with the other. “Knew it. Knew it!”

 

            Cassandra snorted indelicately, sheathing her sword. “I do not think it was meant to be a secret.” The warrior rolled her eyes when Sera’s only response was to blow a raspberry.

 

            Leliana felt, rather than saw, Trevelyan’s lips twist into a smile.

 

            “Corypheus is defeated, the Breach is finally closed, lovers are…lovingly reunited,” Morrigan drawled, amber gaze drifting from the sky to the pair on the stairs. She raised a brow. “What is the phrase? ‘All in a day’s work.’”

 

            Next to her, Cassandra stepped forward. “What do we do now?”

 

            Trevelyan pulled away from Leliana, entwining their hands together as she looked down at her companions. “Now,” Trevelyan’s smile became a wide grin. “We go back to Skyhold, and throw one hell of a party.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was emotional to write, just a little.
> 
> (Ok, am I the only one who thinks fighting red lyrium ghosts would've been cool? The extra bit of angst of having your enemies be people you couldn't save, maybe even people you know? Haha, I like to twist the dagger a bit.)
> 
> Anyway, thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed, followed and/or favorited this story! It's the first story I've ever sat down and finished, beginning, middle, and end - so THANK YOU for the motivation! I appreciate every single one of you so much! I hope it was even a fraction of as much fun to read as it was to write.
> 
> Look out for a possible epilogue at a later date, and if you'd like to try something a little different, I've started a f!Lavellan x f!Trevelyan fic that you can check out!


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